


Kyler of the Silver Fuller

by OGMadster



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn Spoilers, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Flashbacks, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Amputation, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, WoLhaurchestimeric, haurchestimeric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28998417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OGMadster/pseuds/OGMadster
Summary: Kyler, Warrior of Light, and his companions and friends have performed their ill-conceived rescue-Aymeric mission to the letter, but now, atop the Vault, the perpetrator is getting away...
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood, Aymeric de Borel/Haurchefant Greystone, Lucia goe Junius/Ysayle Dangoulain (implied), Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)/Aymeric de Borel, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)/Estinien Wyrmblood, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)/Haurchefant Greystone
Comments: 15
Kudos: 14





	1. Atop the Vault

**Author's Note:**

> I have been calling this my "I'm going to have my angst cake and eat my happy ending cake too" fic.  
> This was the first FFXIV fic I began, though I didn't have the heart to post any of it until it was finished. I cried writing it, more than once. I sincerely hope you enjoy.
> 
> Flashbacks/memories are in italics.
> 
> Please note chapter 6 is an afterword but I only wanted it to display at the VERY VERY end.

Haurchefant beamed. “We’re not too late!” he cried, even as the wind grew to fever pitch around them, the wake of an arriving airship tearing through their hair.

Ser Aymeric staggered forward, battered and bruised. Blood stained his face from where his lower lip was split and swollen. “Father!” he shouted after the Archbishop. “Please!”

Kyler and Haure’s eyes connected at the admission; the rumors they’d discussed in the sitting room of House Fortemps were laid bare with that simplest phrase. A smile threatened to hitch one side of Kyler’s mouth: it seemed he had a weakness for noble-minded righteous bastards. But there was no time for levity. If the Archbishop spoke, it was lost to the whipping of the wind. He and one of the Heavens’ Ward were advancing for the gangplank.

Without needing to spur each other on with words, Kyler and Haurechefant leapt forward, sprinting after their quarry. They hadn’t fought their way through the Vault only to come up empty-handed now. They were closing the distance, Kyler’s eyes traveling the path he’d take, planning how he might get himself between the Archbishop and the Ser at Thordan’s side, it would be best to—

“Kyler!”

His attention snapped to Haurchefant and his heart stopped in his chest. Behind him, on the ramparts above, was a transformed knight, swollen huge through some arcane means, a terrible spear of searing blue-white light already departed from his hand. And then Haure was there, between him and the bolt, his shield raised. A phrase he’d said to his father, Count Edmont, rang hideously through the chambers of Kyler’s mind:

_ My shield shall not break. _

The bolt connected. For a moment, the world was silent but for a terrible whine, a ringing in Kyler’s ears. The very Aether held its breath. Reality ripped into Kyler’s eardrums, the burning roar of the magic, Haurchefant’s voice grating out a shapeless sound of strain and resistance, and then the scream of rending metal. The spear struck home, through Haurchefant’s solar plexus, a terrible flare of the blue light showing even though his back. His eyes opened wide in shock and as his mouth fell open, flecks of blood lifted into the air. He crumpled.

“Haurchefant!” Kyler and Aymeric called his name nearly in unison, both their voices so tight with dismay, terror, and adrenaline that it was impossible to tell who had spoken first and who was the rapid echo. Kyler fell to his knees at his side, eyes traveling from the wound - a gory, gaping hole - to his face, all his features written foremost in shock. 

“Haure,” he said, and heard his own voice break.

Haurchefant’s eyes wandered toward Kyler at the sound, belatedly meeting his. Aymeric collapsed on his other side and took him into his arms. Kyler was only vaguely aware of the other members of their party around them. 

“You are unharmed?” Haure said, his voice weak. As he spoke a trickle of blood bloomed at the corner of his mouth. 

“Yes, Haure,” Kyler said.

“Shh, lie still,” Aymeric told him even as one of Kyler’s fellow adventurers, Sol, knelt to work her healing magics on him, but something was wrong. The wound wasn’t closing. Her brow knit as she tried again, but still it gaped up at them.

“I...I don’t understand,” she said, her words small, far from the commanding presence her voice ordinarily bore.

“No,” stole from Aymeric, the shadow of a whisper.

Haurchefant’s left hand crept onto Aymeric’s arm even as it held him, the labored motion betraying that his arm was broken from how his shield had been blasted asunder. His right reached for Kyler’s, his fingers trembling. 

“Haurchefant,” Kyler choked, taking his hand in both of his and then putting it to his cheek, holding it there as though it could hold him to life.

“Forgive me, my loves,” he said, his voice fading, the guttering of a lone candle in terrible wind. “I couldn’t bear...couldn’t bear the thought…”

“We know,” Aymeric said, the words so gentle and taut with grief both they cinched the knot in Kyler’s throat tighter. He nodded, unable to conjure the strength to reply.

“Kyler,” Haure said, his voice now nearly gone. Kyler searched his eyes, wanting to hold onto their stormy blue color, wanting to memorize them more than ever. But, unbearably, Haurchefant was smiling. Softly, gently even. “Please don’t look at me so.” He blinked, slowly. “A smile better suits a hero.”

It wasn’t an admonition or a tease. Though it had none of the shapes of one, it was a plea. Kyler hung his head, knowing full well his hair would obscure his expression so he could master it. By the cruel gods, if this was his lover’s last request of him, he would see it done. He bent the muscles of his mouth to his will, untwisting it from where it held back sobs, a laborious effort. He focused on his love for this knight, this man, on all the gratitude he had for everything he’d ever done for him. Only once he was satisfied he could do no better, he raised his head again, looking deep into his eyes. “I love you,” he told him.

Haurchefant’s smile strengthened, the slightest sigh of contentment or relief stealing from his lips. His eyes drifted shut, and after a pause where he could have been only sleeping, he went limp. His hand was heavy in Kyler’s, where he held it to his cheek.

Aymeric choked.

A sound ripped from Kyler unbidden, a terrible thing with a life of its own, and it cantered amongst the spires of Ishgard long after his breath was spent. He clung to Haure’s hand, folded with his forehead pressed into his impossibly still chest, and wept. It wasn’t the first time he’d cried there; he knew now that it would be the last.

_ The winds whipping through Camp Dragonhead pursued Kyler inside, though he was only distantly aware of their bite. He knew the cold was intense, but he’d crossed from the quarters he’d been given to the map room in only a single layer. He felt outside himself, unmoored within his own body. Haurchefant sat at his desk, working late into night even then, and as Kyler came to a stop at his side, he said his name softly. _

_ Haurchefant looked up, his attention seemingly drawn only by the spoken word, and his eyes opened wide in surprise to find him at his elbow rather than his usual place across from him. “Kyler,” he reacted. _

_ If he was going to say more, Kyler didn’t let him. He took one of his hands and led him away from his desk, away from the way outside, away from the map and the work and the war, to the door Kyler knew led to Haurchefant’s private chambers. He was grateful he did not question him, simply followed, and only after the door was shut behind them did he place his hands on Kyler’s upper arms, tilting his head to look around Kyler’s bangs and up into his face. _

_ “What is it?” he asked, soft but keen. _

_ “They’re all gone, Haure,” Kyler said, and felt himself shaking. “They’re all gone, and I left them.” Haurchefant blinked up at him, his lips parting, sympathy and perhaps surprise mingling in his looks. Kyler wasn’t sure of the distinction and wasn’t able to find out as his vision swam, tears threatening and at last breaking. He crumbled, all the horror and grief and outrage of the day past overwhelming him. He was back in himself and floundering in a torrent of all the things he couldn’t think, couldn’t feel in those terrible hours that had led him to that moment. _

_ “Oh Kyler,” Haurchefant said gently, his mouth somewhere near his ear, and he held him. Kyler found himself with his face buried in Haure’s collar, and he clung to him. He let him. _

_ After what felt like an eternity, Kyler’s breathing slowed, the hitching of his sobs settling and at last releasing him. Not caring that his face was against chainmail, he pressed his cheek further still into Haurchefant’s chest for a moment. _

_ “There, now,” Haurchefant said, drawing away only enough to look into his face. Releasing one arm of his embrace, he reached into some hidden pocket and produced a handkerchief. It was plain and made of a thick cotton, a utilitarian kerchief where other knights, other Lords, might carry something showier. Rather than offer it to him, he gently wiped Kyler’s cheeks, the creak of his leather gloves, the smell of them familiar and comforting. Only then did he let him take it, and placed both hands on either side of his face, searching his eyes. “What can I do?” _

_ A hint of a smile pulled at Kyler’s mouth. How did he  _ always _ know how to act, what to say? “You’ve already done so much,” he said. _

_ “And yet I ask again, what can I do?” he persisted, looking for a moment as serious as though he were accepting a mission, a Knight of Ishgard asking the Warrior of Light for a task rather than a lover offering his beloved comfort. _

_ “Let me stay?” he asked. _

_ Haurchefant leaned in and, in spite of how hard Kyler had cried, kissed him. His lips were soft and warm, the former perhaps moreso than usual, the kiss tender and unassuming. Kyler melted at it. As it ended he looked into Kyler’s eyes again through his silver lashes, the intensity of the moment before gone. “Of course,” he said, and steered him toward his bedchamber. _

“My Lord,” Lucia said, her voice quiet but just strong enough to be heard over the wind, just strong enough to breach the terrible moment. “We should not linger here.”

A tremor ran through Aymeric that Kyler felt rather than saw. He heard him answer her, but it was as though the words were coming to him through water: the sounds carried the cadence of speech, but they were naught but noise. The last was a single word or phrase, brief. He began to raise his head and looked into Haure’s face, his vision swimming from the last of his tears, for now.

“Kyler?” Aymeric said, and he realized it had not been the first time.

“We must away,” Lucia’s voice said somewhere behind him.

He put a hand on Aymeric’s arm and squeezed lightly, comforted in a small way by what little warmth of his body came through his clothes. Throat burning, tear-tracks stinging his skin, Kyler leaned forward and kissed Haurchefant’s mouth for the last time. His lips were already cold from the bite of the wind. Wordlessly, Kyler slipped his arms under his love’s body and lifted him.

“Kyler,” Aymeric began, his voice faltering.

“Please,” he said, and sounded strange and foreign to his own ears. There was so much he felt in that moment: that he couldn’t not, that Aymeric was wounded as it was and should not bear him in his condition, that he  _ needed _ to do this.

His companions, a knot on the walkway across the Vault roof, parted in silence. Haure was heavy in Kyler’s arms, and heavier for the terrible wound that had taken him from him. Only then did Kyler taste blood.

_ Their breathing was slowing, now, and the chill of the air crept over Kyler’s limbs, raising gooseflesh. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the contrast with the heat that had only moments before been emanating from both of them was stark. _

_ “Here now,” Haurchefant said softly, his voice a little rougher than usual from exertion, and gathered Kyler into his arms. It was a sudden embrace and he pulled him close, his legs over Haure’s lap. Kyler laughed, surprised, but still happy. It was almost as though he was going to carry him. “Comfortable?” _

_ “Quite,” Kyler assured him, and nuzzled his neck before his lips found Haurchefant’s again. Haure hummed against the kiss and returned it, one hand going to the place his neck met his head, fingers skating through his short black hair. As the kiss tapered to its end his bright blue eyes, a touch grey in the low light, crept open. His gaze traveled Kyler’s features, thoughtful, before he planted one more kiss on his mouth, and then one on the scar that ran from his right cheek over his eye and up onto his forehead, and then on the scar that cut a line across the bridge of his nose and under his left eye, and the one that interrupted the line of his jaw. _

_ Kyler didn’t begrudge him, taking advantage of the proximity to return the favor, planting little kisses wherever his mouth was nearest to as Haure moved. He felt more than saw Haurechefant’s smile widen. _

_ “You,” he began, with joy bordering on laughter in his tone. “Have the most tantalizing mouth,” he told him, and kissed it once more. _

_ “Oh do I?” Kyler replied when he had the chance, smile building.  _

_ “Especially when you look at me like that,” Haure grinned at him, and leaned into more kisses, these ones brief and playful. Kyler couldn’t prevent a chuckle, bordering on a giggle, from escaping him, and Haurchefant wrapped his arms tight around him and gave him a squeeze, sighing happily. They lingered and lazed together while they were able, grateful for the rare moment of respite. After blessedly long, slow minutes, Haure’s fingertips began lightly brushing over Kyler’s skin. He shivered pleasantly, humming his appreciation. _

_ “Does it make you too cold?” Haure asked, his voice lower than usual and pleasant, almost hazy. _

_ “No,” Kyler said. “It’s soothing.” _

_ “Good.”  _

_ Haurchefant’s fingers wandered Kyler’s torso and limbs, wherever he could comfortably reach, and it was longer minutes still before Kyler realized that now and again he was tracing the path of his scars. He stirred in his lover’s arms as he took note. _

_ “Ah,” Haurchefant blushed slightly and smiled, looking thoroughly caught. “Should I not have?” _

_ Kyler gently took his hand, the one he’d been tracing with, and kissed his fingertips before releasing it again. “I don’t mind.” _

_ After a comfortable pause, with Haure’s hand beginning to wander again, he asked softly, “What are they from?” _

_ “Most of them I don’t remember,” Kyler answered honestly. At that Haurchefant’s eyes opened wide and connected with his, not trying to conceal his surprise. Kyler didn’t begrudge it: his body was littered with scars of every conceivable shape and size, depth and breadth. A few were newer and darker, ones he’d gotten in his battles since he’d arrived in Eorzea, arrived in Ul’dah and begun his life as an adventurer, as a Scion. But most were pale, old, long-healed. “I’ve always had them.” _

_ Haure’s gaze went back to his body, traveling its shapes with a keener look, now. Part of Kyler wondered what he read there. _

_ “Most of them do not pain me, and I have tried to content myself with that.” _

_ Haurchefant touched a particularly deep scar over Kyler’s clavicle, something reverent in it, stroking its path with his thumb. “They are all the ordeals you have survived,” he said, and bent his head to kiss it. He met Kyler’s eyes. “And I am grateful for every one of them, that I might meet you.” _

_ Something not so much in Haurchefant’s words, but in how he said them - a quiet conviction, soft but absolute sincerity - overwhelmed Kyler. It spurred a surge of feeling in him that he’d never experienced before, not like this: there was so much he could say, that he wanted to say, but all he managed was, “Oh, Haure,” before he kissed him again. _

Lucia and Aymeric peeled off from the party to head for the infirmary, Lucia supporting him, with nary a word. Estinien followed, their shadow in the shape of a Dragoon. That he and Aymeric parted without even a touch or a glance entered Kyler’s mind but it did not move him: it was a piece of information that he had no context for, a fact with no purpose. His feet carried him through the streets of Ishgard and his muscles burned at the terrible weight of what he bore, but these too were gutless facts. Nothing made sense. 

He neared the Last Vigil, and then Fortemps Manor. A ragged sound drew Kyler’s attention and he saw Alphinaud’s face, his eyes wide, horror-stricken, all color blanched from his already fair skin. He covered his mouth with his hand, and when he at last blinked, tears fell. The sight reached him, if only for a moment, a dull pang of guilt: Alphinaud should have been spared this sight. But even that was short-lived. It was done.

“Seven Hells,” the manor guard swore, voice hoarse, and hurried to open the doors. Kyler passed inside, and knew that none of the others followed him in.

There was some amount of commotion around him, noise and movement, but it was all peripheral. Kyler went forward as though he could not control his limbs. And then all at once there they were, the Lords of House Fortemps. There he was, Haurchefant’s father, slack jawed, his expression moving from shock to dismay. It cut Kyler like a knife, twisting in his guts. In the same place that terrible spear struck Haure, where it should have struck him.

“Edmont,” he said, his voice cracking, raw from his shout, his silence, the cold. Edmont’s dismay became grief distilled. Beside him Emmanelain’s features were already twisted with tears, Honoroit at his elbow with both hands over his mouth, and Artoirel stared, eyes harrowed, unblinking. Edmont’s cane clattered to the floor as both his hands came up to take his son’s arm, his hand, to touch that which could not possibly be real. In a hideous instant the effort of it all crashed over Kyler and his knees buckled. He fell to one of them to keep from collapsing and Edmont knelt before him, Haure between them.

“I couldn’t leave him, Edmont,” Kyler said, the reality and the feeling of it all surging like a sudden rising tide. He felt fresh tears on his face, though he was uncertain when he’d stopped crying, or if he’d really stopped at all. “I’m sorry,” he choked, “I’m so sorry.”

“ _ What happened? _ ” Artoirel demanded, severe and sudden. His need to understand was writ in tones of anger.

“One of the Heaven’s Ward,” Kyler answered, though he could not stop looking at Count Edmont’s stricken face. “A spear of light, he—” Kyler’s throat tightened, strangling his words. “He leapt to protect me,” He could feel himself shaking. “It was meant  _ for me _ .” Kyler’s neck went slack, his muscles abandoning the effort of keeping his head upright, and he wept. 

“A knight lives to serve,” Edmont said. “To protect, to sacrifice. There is no higher honor,” his voice first wavered and then faltered. “My son,” he sobbed, and took Haurchefant from Kyler’s arms. He let him.

_ “You’re still angry with me, aren’t you?” _

_ Haurchefant looked up at Kyler where he stood in the doorway. Haure’s mouth was set in a straight line, the sharpness of his look only emphasized by the curtain of his hair, still wet from the bath. But then he looked away, to the fire, to the floor between his feet. He rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed before putting his hands on his own knees to push himself to standing. He crossed from the chest at the foot of his bed to the doorway and put his hands on Kyler’s arms, looking into his eyes. _

_ “I am not angry with you,” he told him. _

_ “You have a right to be,” Kyler answered.  _

_ “I am not,” he repeated, sliding his hands down Kyler’s arms until he clasped his hands and held on to them between them. “But I was very scared for you today.” _

_ Kyler searched his eyes and they were softer now, tired. “I’m sorry.” _

_ “I know you are,” he said, and his smile returned. “You came in just now penitent as a schoolboy who knows he’s about to get his ears boxed.” A soundless chuckle but for the breath that would have carried it punctuated his thought and he put one hand on Kyler’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “Only answer me this,” he began, his eyes moving back and forth between Kyler’s. _

_ “Yes?” he prompted, waiting for him to go on. _

_ “You know full well that you can rely on me?”  _

_ The question struck Kyler. The man who had single-handedly done more for his journey than any other Ishgardian, more than any other person save a few of the Scions, who had unfailingly welcomed him into his camp and then into his arms, into his bed, needed to be reassured that he was  _ dependable _?  _

_ “That you may call on me, not only for comfort or counsel, not connections or information but for combat, and I will come?” His stormy eyes were hard as steel. _

_ “Haure,” Kyler said, putting a hand to his cheek, now. “Of course.” _

_ “And yet you did not,” he frowned slightly.  _

_ “There was little time,” Kyler told him. “It’s always a race against time when it comes to Primals.” _

_ “Aye, but this one was on my doorstep, and you ran to fight it, gambling with your life even before you entered the arena Iceheart had chosen,” he said. It was clear something in this pained him deeply. Something in it had wounded him. _

_ “We were already in Snowcloak to attune the remaining Aetheryte,” he said, trying to be gentle, trying to be diplomatic. Haure had already protested all this in front of his soldiers in the map room and Alphinaud besides and been full of relief after he’d gotten it off his chest. He’d even kissed him - and rather passionately at that - in the sitting room before he went to bathe. That the hurt was still there was a bit of a surprise. _

_ Haurchefant closed his eyes, pulled in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and released it. “I can do nothing to aid you, nor protect you, if I am not there.” He searched his eyes deeply, something burning like a light in his. “I love you, Kyler.” _

_ The confession sent a chill through him, pleasant and profound, and in the instant everything was explained. He’d feared the worst, and to add desperate insult to grievous injury, he’d feared he’d never get to tell him. “Oh Haurchefant,” Kyler leaned in and kissed him, and kissed him and kissed him, a stream of them that could be many as easily as a long unbroken one, and then he held him close, tucking his face into his neck. Haure hugged him tight, one hand closing around the fabric of Kyler’s shirt and the other in his hair, holding on as though he needed to be sure he was really and truly there. _

_ “I’m alright,” Kyler whispered at length. “I’m here.” He pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. “I love you, Haurchefant.” _

_ “Thank the Fury,” Haure said, and kissed him again.  _

Kyler stared out across the city of Ishgard as a heavy snow fell. It felt appropriate, somehow, that by morning the city would be blanketed in fresh snow, its edges softened in the drifts, its sounds muted. If rain was cleansing, snow was concealing. Both were somber enough for what the day had held.

No matter how long he watched, he couldn’t rest. Even when he laid his head on the pillow he stared at the decorated ceiling, eyes mindlessly tracing its abstract ornamentations endlessly. It had been fully night for some time when he rose from bed, dressed, and wandered the halls. Even the servants were abed at this hour, leaving him alone with his memories. He passed the place in the entry hall where he’d fallen to one knee; the floor gleamed, the tile his sabatons had cracked from his near-collapse having been mended and the whole entryway scrubbed and waxed and polished anew. There was no saying whether the blood had been from Haurchefant’s body or whether it had come off of Kyler’s clothes. He would never wear that armor again, the white and blue of Sultansworn Paladins stained hideous red with his lover’s lifeblood.

Something in it, in standing in the place where he’d shattered the Fortemps family with the truth, brought the Bloody Banquet back to him, brought the Waking Sands massacre back to him. Urgency flinched in his stomach, clenched a fist around his heart, and it was all he could do not to sprint to Tataru’s room, to Alphinaud’s. He hurried to them all the same, checking to be sure they were there as softly as he could. Even then his heart still galloped in his chest, and he returned to his room to fetch his sword and shield.

_ The stone floor was frigid beneath him as Kyler sat with his back to Alphinaud’s door. For a mercy, Tataru’s room was directly across the hall from his own and even when Kyler could sleep he’d ever been light at it. Her bedroom door was locked, as was Alphinaud’s, and their chambers were connected within by another interior door. If either of them should be in crisis, the other could come to their aid. And Kyler would hear.  _

_ His shield was at his side and his sword leaned against his shoulder, the tip of the scabbard near his boot. Camp Dragonhead was quiet in the early hours of the watch before dawn, eerily so. Hours of dark and cold crept by, shapeless. _

_ The sound of boots, treading in measured steps so as to limit their sound, fell on Kyler’s ears and he snapped to total wakefulness, something in it summoning the phantoms of soldiers in blue uniforms, their torches making monsters of their shadows on subterranean walls. But advancing down the hallway was Haurchefant, dressed down but warmly. Kyler relaxed at the sight, turning to check the other side of the hallway for good measure. _

_ Wordless, Haure sat by his side, their shoulders lightly touching. When their eyes connected, he gave Kyler a slight smile, sleepy, but genuine. He understood. Kyler was grateful he didn’t have to explain his restlessness, didn’t have to justify that the terrors of his dreams even in waking were sometimes so monumental he could not console himself unless he checked on his last two companions at the least. That when sleep eluded him something compelled him to sit vigil while they rested. He trusted Haure and the knights and soldiers of Camp Dragonhead implicitly, but this logical knowledge, the fact of their experience and efficacy, did nothing to assuage the horrible fear that ever seemed not even a yalm’s distance from him. _

_ After a while of sitting beside him, Haure put one of his hands on Kyler’s knee. A simple gesture, intimate, consoling. He appreciated it, but little more than a twitch of a smile reached his mouth. Another while later and Kyler rested his head on Haure’s shoulder. Another while still and he shifted to begin playing with Kyler’s hair idly. Kyler drifted off. _

“Kyler, I’m opening the door,” Alphinaud told him by way of warning. Kyler sat up just as the door swung in. Alphinaud looked down at him, a potent and sadly familiar mix of exhaustion, grief, and sympathy in his large blue eyes. “I knew you’d be here,” he said softly.

Kyler simply looked up into his face, this young man who had already seen and felt so much more than his fair share of suffering. 

“Come in,” he told him, not a single onze of request in his voice. “Get some sleep.”

He wasn’t asking and Kyler was in no mood to argue. He could swear he heard his joints as he rose to his feet, he’d been sitting in one position for so long. Alphinaud’s room, like his own in the Fortemps manor, was beautifully appointed, but as soon as he entered he saw that Alphinaud had placed two spare pillows on the thick plush rug beside his bed. A blanket sat folded with them. Saying not a word, he locked the door behind Kyler with a decisive click, crossed the floor in his pajamas, and crawled back into bed.

Kyler lay down obediently. After all, this was far from the first time he’d been caught sitting up to watch and been instructed to at least try to rest. The rug on the Fortemps manor floor was decidedly more comfortable, but he found he’d do anything for it to be one of the furs of Camp Dragonhead, for the knowledge that he’d wake and cross the frigid courtyard to find Haurchefant waiting with a smile powerful as sunlight, a kiss, and a mug of cocoa for him. Kyler closed his eyes, and tried to find solace in the quiet sound of Alphinaud’s breathing as he drifted back to sleep. Alive, and whole. Kyler swore on the cruel Twelve he would ensure he stayed that way.


	2. One Foot in Front of the Other

The remaining Scions of the Seventh Dawn broke their fast in a small sitting room rather than the dining room. It was no wonder. None of them were up for much conversation, and Kyler supposed that Count Edmont and his sons were far from feeling equal to the task of standing on ceremony, nor entertaining their Wards. He thought it likely that the remaining Fortemps family would never look at him the same again.

“Kyler,” Tataru said gently, her plaintive voice cutting through his wandering thoughts. “You ought to eat, before it gets cold.”

Kyler blinked, realizing only now that she’d drawn attention to it that he’d been halfheartedly stirring his porridge for some time. He conceded, though he had no appetite. Even if it turned his stomach, his body needed food.

At length, Alphinaud spoke. “We should pay a visit to the Congregation, see if Ser Aymeric is recovered from his injuries.”

The mention of his lover sent a pang of resurgent guilt through Kyler. He’d wandered the night in a haze of new despair and old anxieties, but he was not the only one mourning the loss of a friend and a beloved. 

“After breakfast, shall we?” Alphinaud asked, meeting Kyler’s eyes. In the young scion’s Kyler saw a remarkable steadiness, a resilience. 

“Yes,” he answered, and tucked into the last of his meal.

The seat of the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights was right next door to the Forgotten Knight, a fact that had never been lost on Kyler; in better days he’d found humor in the notion of any of the Temple Knights leaving their headquarters and going one door over to the tavern. Today he was grateful for their proximity, that Tataru could walk with him and Alphinaud until the last. 

“Do wish him my best,” she said, smiling up at him. 

Kyler managed to smile back, nodding.

Alphinaud was already at the door of the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly, holding it open and looking back, waiting. Kyler ducked inside.

Alphinaud strode up to the attending knight at the door to Ser Aymeric’s private office. “Hello, good Ser,” he greeted her. “We are here to see the Lord Commander, if he is available.”

Though the standard helmets of the Temple Knights concealed all of their faces, Kyler thought he saw recognition in her eyes until they dodged away from his. “Yes of course,” she said.

Inside, Kyler was surprised to find that, in addition to Lucia and Aymeric, Estinien stood near the Lord Commander’s right hand. Less pleasant of a shock was that his armor was still stained terrible red. That was a matter for another time.

“My friends,” Aymeric greeted them, and exhaustion was plain in his voice, even in so brief a phrase. Kyler saw its signs in him elsewhere, in the shadows around his eyes and something in the curve of his shoulders. Though he’d clearly been healed and his lower lip was no longer split, it was still swollen, and redder than usual. 

“How are you faring, Ser Aymeric? Are you recovered from your wounds?” Alphinaud asked.

Aymeric closed his eyes, as he sometimes did when in thought or choosing his words. “Some wounds,” he began softly. “Do not heal.”

Kyler’s throat cinched tight, but before he could so much as swallow all the lights in the room grew unnaturally bright, his ears filling with a whining ring, and he knew he was in the clutches of the Echo. Dread sat, a cold stone in the pit of his stomach.

He arrived at Aymeric’s side in the presence of the Archbishop. They were otherwise alone in the cathedral, and Aymeric was railing at his father. Kyler took in every word, but even more than the contents of what he said the impression of his indignation, his utter outrage, reached him.

“I would be interested to hear where you acquired such information,” Thordan the VII said, only now looking up at his son. “But you have the right of it, yes.”

The admission was like a slap of cold water to the face: he really had known all along.

“But tell me, Aymeric,” he began, his words measured. “Will you answer for all of my sins?”

“What?” he frowned, eyes sharp as blades.

“If a man cannot atone for his sins during his meager life, must his progeny then repent? And their children after that, and theirs again?” 

Kyler could feel the tide of excuses even as they issued forth. These were all the things Thordan told himself, everything he used so he might think of himself as a good and noble man, a savior of his people. Aymeric stood, posture rigid, listening unwillingly to the swill his father spouted. Though Kyler knew it was futile, he passed his hand through the space Aymeric’s was in at his side, as though he could hold it. As though he could comfort him. 

In the end, Aymeric had no retorts for him. Kyler didn’t blame him for that: more than his worldview being shattered, he now had to contend with both the leader he served and his father being a boldfaced liar.

“But worry not, my son,” the Archbishop said. Something in how he said those words, _my son_ , turned Kyler’s stomach. “I have found a way. I will free us from the Sins of Antiquity.”

When Thordan turned his back, two of the Heaven’s Ward appeared, and one of them blocked Aymeric from advancing closer to the desk behind which his father stood with a sword -- not just any knight, Ser Zephirin. Something in the smug cut of his mouth stoked a spark of anger in Kyler. 

“If he has told others, I would have their names,” Thordan said, speaking as though Aymeric was no longer in the room. “Take him to a cell and question him, _thoroughly_.” The implications of the phrase sent a roil of fury and nausea and terrible, terrible dread spiraling through Kyler.

Aymeric’s face fell. “F-father!” He protested, but the knights of Heaven’s Ward had already seized his arms. Though it was a vision, Kyler reached for Aymeric instinctively, but the image was washing out. He was going back to the present.

“Kyler,” Alphinaud was calling his name as he came to. As the whining faded and the lights dimmed back to their natural tones, Kyler found he was on his knees. Alphinaud was kneeling beside him, a hand on his back. 

“Are you well?” Aymeric asked, voice taut.

Kyler raised his head, blinking hard to clear it, and was met with a look of open concern that cut the air between them; Aymeric was quite literally on the edge of his seat. 

“Yes,” he answered. “The Echo,” he collected himself, standing. “Please forgive me.” 

The tension went out of Aymeric. He sat back again. “There is nothing to forgive, Kyler.”

Kyler wondered if that was really the truth, but he held his tongue. He noticed, too, a hazy quality to Aymeric’s voice, beyond even exhaustion. Something in the back of his mind roared it had to do with his treatment in the gaol with terrible certainty, and though he didn’t understand it, with even a kind of familiarity. He knew certain as he stood there that was the way a voice sounded wrung out from screaming, screaming until you couldn’t any longer. A ripple of that same queasiness moved through him, he felt the color drain from his face only for him to flush in its wake, an awful fluctuation, a tremor shook him so hard that were he in armor it would have rattled. He clenched his fists to still it, hating that raw quality in Aymeric’s voice, wishing he could unmake it with a word. 

“I told them that once upon a time this was not so uncommon for you,” Alphinaud said, and though his tone was confident as ever there was a hint of concern in his eyes.

“It’s been some time,” Kyler said, struggling to track the conversation with his body still rioting. A bead of cold sweat ran into his collar. His body shook with one last, jarring tremor and his stomach finally began to settle. “Since a vision has taken my feet out from under me. I thought I’d gotten used to them by now.” Embarrassment tried to rear its head in him, but before it could, he went on, “I’m only happy I didn’t come to flat on my back.”

Estinien’s mouth quirked down, a fleeting expression that Kyler had come to know was a concession. Perhaps he was considering heckling him before he’d owned that it used to be worse. He didn’t begrudge him either way. Surprising himself, a bit of heckling would have been a welcome moment of normalcy.

“As am I,” Aymeric agreed. A relieved smile touched his lips.

“What did you see?” Alphinaud asked.

Kyler met Aymeric’s gaze. In spite of the ordeals of the previous day, his vivid blue eyes, the light, vibrant blue of a clear dawn sky, were steady. “I saw your conversation with the Archbishop.” He waited, wondering if Aymeric would rather tell it himself. A shadow of something - sadness, regret? Pain? - crossed his expression, but the Lord Commander nodded.

“Ser Aymeric confronted the Archbishop as he promised, and Thordan made no attempt to deny any of it. He knew it all. He even knew that Nidhogg bore one of his brother’s eyes,”

Estinien swore under his breath.

“A fact we had to journey back to The Churning Mists above Sohm Al to get Hraesvelgr to admit,” he added for Aymeric and Lucia’s benefit. “Thordan made all the excuses you might expect, but they all sounded to me like the lies he told himself to justify his ends.”

“Excuses I made no effort to counter,” Aymeric said darkly. “My words failed me. Would that you saw a better moment from my past.”

“You had said your piece, and eloquently,” Kyler replied. “Nothing more you could have told him would have reached him.” Aymeric met his eyes and gave him the slightest smile, grateful. “And to be frank, I am more concerned with what he said after: that he had a plan to free Ishgard from the sins of the past.”

“As they neared the airship I could hear him say ‘Azys Lla awaits,’” Aymeric related, crossing his arms and leaning back in his customary way. “Though I am unfamiliar with the phrase.”

“Another mystery to add to that of the terrible power shown by the Heaven’s Ward,” Lucia said. “I had never seen the like of the shape Ser Zephirin took, or the weapon he used, when he,” her voice faltered, but she finished solemnly, “struck down Lord Haurchefant.”

Kyler’s attention focused in as sharp as though he were in combat. “It was Ser Zephirin?” he asked.

Lucia visibly reacted, drawing back slightly where she stood though she gave no ground. “Yes,” she replied. “I saw him shrink back to himself and leap onto the _Soleil_ , the airship deck as it passed.”

“Thank you Lucia,” he said. “I will have Ser Zephirin’s heart for what he did to Haurchefant.”

The threat hung in the air for a moment before Alphinaud gently began again. “I spoke with some of your compatriots, Kyler, outside House Fortemps. They mentioned that other members of the Heaven’s Ward changed shape in battle, grew huge. And your healer,” he paused. “She said that his wound could not be closed, though she tried.”

“Yes,” Aymeric confirmed softly. “Valiantly.”

“Aye,” Estinien said, that he was clenching his jaw clear even wearing his helm.

“It must have been the spear,” Kyler said, and sounded as distant as he felt. “A bolt of blue light.”

“It called to mind the Godlike powers attributed to King Thordan and his Knights Twelve,” Aymeric said softly.

Alphinaud’s eyes flew wide. “Godlike?” he repeated. “Seven Hells!”

The urgency of his voice snapped Kyler back to himself.

“Of course! The lies of the Church have become canonized, bolstered by a thousand years of prayer!”

“Primals,” Kyler named them what they were.

“If Ysayle summoned the power of Saint Shiva as a Primal into her own body, there is no reason the Heaven’s Ward couldn’t do the same for King Thordan and his Twelve,” Alphinaud continued. “It is not identical, as they seem to be able to call forth these powers and dismiss them at will, but I think it is safe to assume the essence of the thing remains.”

“Then Azys Lla…” Aymeric began, the keen look in his eyes betraying that his mind was working over everything.

“The name is unknown to me as well, but I think it is safe to assume that whatever plan the Archbishop means to enact, it is likely he means to summon King Thordan.”

“Alphinaud,” Kyler said to draw his attention. “I think they ought to know.”

Alphinaud regarded him for a moment before a spark of recognition lit his eyes. He nodded his agreement.

Kyler turned to Aymeric, thinking he deserved to hear it most of all. “The first time I met the Archbishop, he told me freely that he had been approached by Ascians.”

Aymeric’s look sharpened, alert and alarmed.

“He claimed that he was playing along, not condemning nor condoning them, until he had the ability to renounce them, perhaps even defeat them.”

“Father,” Americ said, dismayed, slumping a bit and shaking his head. “Ascians and Primals...what are you thinking?”

“It may well be that he isn’t thinking, at least not clearly,” Kyler said.

“What do you mean?” Estinien asked.

“It is possible,” Alphinaud began. “If they truly are using the power of Primals, that they are tempered.” He paused, absorbed by the thought, before he explained. “Devotees tempered by the summoned likeness of their deities become compelled to unnatural zealotry. They live and breathe their faith, supplying unceasing prayer to strengthen the Primal which has them in its thrall.”

“And this is what the Echo protects you and Lady Ysayle from,” Estinien said, undoubtedly recalling the preparations they had made against Lord Ravana. Kyler nodded.

“As of yet...there is no remedy,” Alphinaud told them. Hearing him say it brought Kyler back to his first encounter in the Bowl of Embers, his first battle with Ifrit, and all the soldiers and civilians slain in the aftermath, their minds lost to the Amalj’aa’s Primal.

“Ensnared by the power they seek to bend to their will,” Aymeric said quietly. He sat up straighter, decisiveness clear in the set of his features. “Tempered or no, if he means to summon a Primal my father’s plan cannot be allowed to succeed. With his departure from the city, Ishgard will founder for want of leadership. There has ever been an Archbishop in the seat of power and I cannot fathom what the days to come may bring. On behalf of Ishgard, I formally request the aid of the Scions of the Seventh dawn: stop the Archbishop from summoning King Thordan, by whatever means necessary.”

“And we grant it gladly, Ser Aymeric,” Alphinaud declared. “We shall have to consider preparations. Lucia, Estinien, if you might join me outside?” 

Lucia nodded, and Estinien was already halfway to the door. Alphinaud, ever attentive to others’ needs. Kyler was grateful. He waited until the door clicked shut behind them to turn to Aymeric again.

His carefully maintained mask of neutrality began to fall away as Kyler watched, the dark circles under his eyes seeming to deepen. Kyler crossed the floor and circled around behind his desk, fully prepared to lean down to embrace him, but instead Aymeric rose to meet him. He hugged him tight, turning his face toward Kyler’s neck, and just held on. Kyler hugged him back, trying to walk the line between holding him and being mindful that he didn’t know where or how extensive his wounds from the day before might be. He smelled faintly of cloves, almost certainly a component in the soap he used, or perhaps in an ointment or salve. In spite of his worry, he held him a little tighter.

“I’m sorry,” Kyler said, his throat clenching down, burning over the words as he spoke.

“Kyler,” Aymeric reacted.

“I should have come to you, I’m so sorry…”

“Kyler,” he repeated again, this time a little more urgently, and put his hands on either side of his face, all but forcing him to meet his eyes. Kyler obliged him. “You were grieving, in your way; I was in mine.”

“I still wish I had,” he admitted softly. “And for more reasons. Your wounds…”

Aymeric shook his head, gently, to silence him and his eyes moved back and forth between Kyler’s two, the motion prompting Kyler to get lost in their brilliant depths. “I do not begrudge you. And,” he paused. “I was indeed in a sorry state. Perhaps it is better that you didn’t witness.” Kyler kept his peace, uncertain whether he’d rather have witnessed it or not. “I am grateful for Lucia and our chirurgeons. Did,” he paused. “Did you have someone to console you?”

The question surprised him, feeling in the moment that he hardly deserved to have someone to console him the night before. He knew full well Aymeric would balk and protest if he said as much, and he didn’t want to bring him any more pain than he was already in. Rather, he said, “Nothing in that house would have granted me solace.”

Aymeric sighed, but nodded. He held him close again, one hand going to the back of his head, stroking his hair. They stood like that for what felt like an age, silent, comforted by each other’s proximity.

“I would offer to have you stay with me, if it would give you even a moment’s respite,” Aymeric told him quietly. Something in their closeness, in how softly he spoke, betrayed how frayed his voice was, it cracking over some of his words. Kyler’s hand tightened on his back.

“I would take that offer, if I didn’t think we were likely to be leaving as soon as Cid can bear us after the _Soleil_.” Aymeric didn’t raise his head to nod this time, the gesture felt rather than seen.

“The Fury go with you. Tell me, if you would,” he looked up into Kyler’s face again. “When you return?”

“I promise,” Kyler replied. He noticed Aymeric’s gaze flit to his mouth and back. Aymeric, ever polite; ever asking for permission for things Kyler gave him willingly, things he would have him know were his. Before he could ask if he might, Kyler leaned in and kissed him softly. He felt the rush of Aymeric’s relieved breath, and then the tremble of his mouth as tears broke. They summoned up his own, and he kissed him and held him closer still.

_“Feeling better?” Haurchefant smiled at Kyler as he rejoined him after his bath, openly admiring the swath of bare chest exposed by the slouch of his robe._

_He chuckled, tossing the towel he’d been drying his hair with at him to interrupt his look. Haure, far from discouraged, only caught it and grinned, wrinkling his nose at him momentarily._

_“Much,” he said and flopped down on the small couch, draping his legs over Haure’s lap._

_“Good,” he chuckled, pulling his legs still closer to him, holding them comfortably. He leaned toward him, eyes dancing, and Kyler sat forward to give him the kiss he so obviously craved. Haure hummed against his mouth and kissed him back, several times, little kisses that didn’t wipe the smile off his face._

_When Kyler leaned back again, Haurchefant began lightly stroking his shins with his fingertips, a pleasant kind of tickling. Kyler was content to let him._

_“He’s absolutely enamored with you, you know,” he said suddenly, a conspiratorial smile on his face._

_“What?” Kyler blinked._

_Haure’s smile broadened. “Ser Aymeric,” he said. “He’s practically swooning.”_

_“No,” Kyler could hardly believe it, but Haurchefant nodded in almost imperious confidence. “_ Really _?”_

_“If I were a betting man, I’d put coin on it,” he smirked. “He praised you today, and he got as near to gushing as I have ever seen him.”_

_Knowing that Aymeric thought that highly of him excited him in ways that ordinary praise did not. He felt a rush of something like giddiness that he barely contained._

_“And you like that,” Haure beamed, feeding off his excitement._

_“Who wouldn’t?” Kyler said, though he felt his face heating up. “He’s a beautiful man.”_

_Haurchefant chuckled. “Indeed he is.”_

_“As are you,” Kyler told him, tracing the cut of his cheekbone with a fingertip. Haure darted his head forward to kiss it before it was out of his reach, Kyler letting his arm drape along the back of the couch again. After a thoughtful pause, he asked, “Would it bother you, were I to seek his attention?”_

_“You’d hardly need to seek it,” he laughed. “You’ve already captured it!” His eyes softened. “Completely understandable, of course.”_

_“Your surname ought to have been Silvertongue,” Kyler told him._

_Haure barked out another laugh. “I think that honor should go to young Master Alphinaud!”_

_Kyler chuckled, shaking his head. “But truly, Haure?”_

_“Court him, if you wish it,” he told him, his easy smile unbroken. “I took it to heart when you told me you had a great deal of affection to give. So long as I still earn some of it, I would not begrudge Aymeric any he earns from you, nor anyone else you truly felt was deserving.”_

_Kyler’s smile grew, and on an impulse he shifted, straddling Haure’s lap. His eyes sparkled as he put his arms about him. “You have my_ love _, Haurchefant,” he told him._

_“And I am the luckiest man alive for it,” he said, and pulled him into a deep kiss._

When Kyler emerged from Ser Aymeric’s chamber, he caught the end of a conversation between Estinien, Lucia, and Alphinaud regarding the former’s armor.

“Even metal won’t take it off, you see?” Estinien was saying, scraping over the surface of his vambrace with the now-less-sharp edge of a knife. 

“How peculiar,” Alphinaud remarked, the frown on his brow betraying worry.

“So that is what you meant when you said it would need to be reforged,” Kyler said, drawing all three of their attention as he rejoined them.

“Unfortunately,” Estinien groused, sheathing the knife with a distinct clack. “And moreso that this is no time for it.”

“If you are ready, Lucia tells me she has a lead,” Alphinaud said, looking up at Kyler.

“Yes,” he said, and turned to the knight.

“The _Soleil_ is the Archbishop’s personal airship,” Lucia said. “And I have received reports that it was sighted in the Cloud Sea, though it was headed into the Northern Reaches, which are not easily accessible from Camp Cloudtop.”

“So we’ll be calling on Master Garlond again after all,” Kyler said, glancing at Alphinaud.

The young elezen nodded. “Let’s see if he’s about.”

“With your leave, I shall accompany you,” Lucia said, her posture as rigid and straight as though she was submitting herself for inspection by a commanding officer.

“We’d be glad of your help,” Alphinaud replied, and looked to Estinien.

“As the Lord Commander said, we know not what will happen with the Archbishop away from the city. I will remain here in case force is needed.”

“Then we have our respective headings. I shall go to Skysteel Manufactory to seek out our intrepid engineer. Kyler, if you would inform Tataru?”

Kyler gave him a nod, but lingered behind as he left, Lucia in his wake. He turned to Estinien and felt more than saw that he was watching him. His helm obscured too much of his face for him to be able to tell properly.

“Estinien,” he began, stepping closer to speak quietly. “Please...look after him?”

“The Lord Commander hardly needs supervision,” he said gruffly. “But aye, I will.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Kyler’s mouth. He knew thanking him would only get him a swift kick to the arse, at least verbally, so he nodded again, and headed outside.

“There he is,” Cid said by way of a greeting. He stopped whatever preparation he was making to join Kyler, reaching up and gripping his shoulder. He gave him a knowing look, sympathy behind the lopsided semi-smile that remained on his face. 

“Hi, Cid.”

He gave the slightest sigh before pulling Kyler into a hug. “Keep your chin up,” he said quietly before giving him a solid thump on the back and releasing him. Kyler’s throat burned and his eyes prickled, but he was grateful. Cid was an excellent man, and he thanked whatever lucky stars he had and any of the Gods that would listen that he - and Biggs and Wedge - were safe, and alive, and well.

By the looks of it the _Enterprise_ was ready to depart, or nearly, and Kyler saw himself onboard in silence. Heavy white clouds sailed in a clear blue sky, the sort that looked solid, looked as though you could bounce or sleep on them. It was the perfect day to fly to the Cloud Sea. As the _Enterprise_ lifted off, he heard a whisper in his mind, “For those we have lost, for those we can yet save.”

Tears he wasn’t expecting broke. In the wake of that phrase, all he could think of was Haure’s ruined shield, the blood at the corner of his mouth, how he would have relished another chance at traveling aboard the _Enterprise_. The last most brought a smile to his lips, bitter though it was.

_Kyler and Haure hurried from the Tribunal atrium, the latter holding the black chocobo’s reins, trying in vain to suppress laughter and earning only more looks of derision from the incredulous Inquisition guard._

_“Well,” Haure laughed more fully in the open air. “I suppose I got a touch ahead of myself, didn’t I?”_

_“Only a bit,” Kyler answered, tweaking Haurchefant’s bandolier affectionately. Even that slightest public show of care had the knight beaming, his chest puffing up with pride, gratitude, or plain happiness._

_“Here,” he said, eyes dancing, and placed the reins in Kyler’s hand. “She is yours, if you’ll have her.”_

_“Of course I will,” Kyler laughed, admiring her glossy black feathers. “She’s gorgeous.”_

_“Isn’t she?” Haure agreed, petting her long neck. She gave the slightest whistle in appreciation. “I raised her myself,” he added._

_“Haure,” Kyler said, forgetting in a moment of overpowering gratitude where they were, leaning in to kiss him. As he drew away he recalled and felt his whole head heat up with an invading blush, one that matched Haurchefant’s much more visibly apparent one, but they broke into laughter. Haure put an arm around his shoulders and embraced him, still laughing._

_“I forgot where we were,” Kyler murmured, even a wave of embarrassment unable to wipe the grin from his face._

_“Do you regret it?” Haure asked, still smiling as well, his blue eyes bright._

_“Do you?” Kyler fought the urge to wince, abruptly nervous._

_“No,” he laughed._

_“Then neither do I,” he declared, determined to put away his embarrassment. Let all of Ishgard know, let the whole world know that he loved him. He put his attention back on the beautiful black bird, tilting his head to look up into her eyes. “She’s larger than Tide,” he said, thinking of his company Chocobo._

_“Rather,” Haure agreed. “I will admit, she is larger even than I thought she would be.” He paused, leaning a little closer to him to say conspiratorially, “Want to take her out?”_

_Kyler turned to look at him over his shoulder. Haurchefant was smiling, his lower lip tucked between his teeth in excitement. “Both of us?”_

_“I tested to see how much weight she can bear. She’s strong enough.” His eyes were sparkling._

_Kyler got up into her saddle, noticing it was even longer than necessary; there was more than enough room if he sat forward for Haure to sit behind him. His clever troublemaker had thought of everything. Grinning, Kyler offered him a hand up._

Things happened in a blur. There were moments of crystalline clarity: running across imperial soldiers unexpectedly; meeting Sonu Vanu, chief of the Zundu; witnessing the terrible white whale Bismarck devour an island; the light in Cid’s eyes as he proposed outfitting the _Enterprise_ to be able to tow a Godsdamned floating island to “fish” for a Primal. Kyler was exhausted, body and soul, but he would be damned if he didn’t do everything he could to prevent the Archbishop from obtaining the key to Azys Lla - to, as the Vundu chieftain put it, the “isle of forbidden secrets.” And if it bought him an opportunity to end Ser Zephirin, so much the better.

The hour was drawing close to when he would have to plunge into battle with a God, a mimicry of one, yet again. He reached for his Linkpearl, calibrating it to connect him with his acquaintances, his fellow adventurers, but he hesitated. What if it rang Sol? Would she even respond? He could only imagine the dread that would roll through him were their places reversed. He sighed, and activated the device. He prayed to the Wanderer hers was off.

The Primal that the Vundu called “The White” was awful. Few battles had taxed Kyler like this one, and witnessing its form dissolve into Aether wasn’t even a relief. His duty was done, his compatriots departed, the so-called key to Azys Lla clutched in his hand, and he was hollowed out.

A familiar pain blossomed at the core of his being and in his mind’s eye the fourth crystal of light returned to color. Hydaelyn’s voice echoed in the emptiness, but he could hardly understand Her words. As the vision faded and he came round on his knees once more - he was sick of being driven to his knees - he couldn’t even muster the vitriol to silently curse Midgardsormer and his blasted testing of his character. All it did was make him think of Minfilia, of her telling him he ought to keep private that he’d lost the blessing of Light, of the urgency in her face when the Goddess spoke to her in the tunnels, of her expression when she insisted he leave her. Of how much he still hated himself for complying.

“So falls the Lord of Mists, as did all others before him,” said a voice he thought was a woman’s.

Kyler’s attention roared to where it had come from and there, there was a black-robed Ascian, and at her side, the man who had ordered the blow that killed his lover. The man who sired his lover that yet lived. The Archbishop.

She went on. “How many times does this make, Warrior of Light? Ah, how much you have grown─far beyond the limits of mere mortals.”

Kyler rose to his feet, feeling his spine straighten vertebrae by vertebrae, and red-hot rage bloomed in the cavernous nothing inside him.

“He has what we seek?” Thordan spoke, again as though the man he referred to wasn’t even in his presence.

That fury boiled and overflowed. Kyler felt as though he was about to spit magma, as though defeating the Lord of the Inferno so many times had granted him the ability to become pure molten metal. He was hurtling toward them, an animal roar wrenching from his lungs, his sword in his hand, when the Ascian struck him. A black bolt wreathed in purple smoke hit the core of him and lifted him high, its icy touch hardly even registering.

“Not so hasty,” the Ascian smirked, retrieving the key he’d killed a God to secure. “You may have regained the blessing of Light, if only just. Thrashing about will not avail you.”

But Kyler wasn’t listening to her. He couldn’t care less what she was going on about. He didn’t recognize his own voice when he spat out, “Your precious Fury take you, Thordan! _Look at me, you kin-torturing son of a serpent!_ ”

The Archbishop fixed him with a withering glare but it glanced off him, the anger in him all-consuming. “Flee to Azys Lla if you wish, but I swear on Haurchefant’s blood that I _will_ find you, and you _will pay for what you’ve done, all of you!_ ”

“I tire of this,” Thordan said, sounding bored. “The path to the heavens shall open.”

Kyler struggled still, railing against the magic that held him fast even as the key floated of its own volition, a beam of light blazing into the sky. A heading. He swore oaths he didn’t recognize.

Only as the Archbishop - laughing maniacally, Twelve damn him - vanished into a plume of Ascian magic did the bolt holding Kyler at last give. He crashed to the grass of the island still lashed to the _Enterprise_ and let out one final shout of rage. It did nothing to quench the fire of it.

If before everything happened in a haze, now the world was in stark relief: every flicker of emotion over Alphinaud’s face as he learned what all had come to pass, the way Biggs and Wedge avoided Kyler’s eyes in the wake of his fury, how Cid’s brow knit with the slightest frown. As they plunged onward, everything that barred them from sprinting after the Archbishop could only needle at Kyler’s urgency, everything rendered an annoyance that fed the flames still burning in the pit of his stomach. Even the sight of the new emperor of Garlemald in the flesh was little more than kindling.

They approached Azys Lla, a terrible hulking Allagan monstrosity that brought back memories of the Crystal Tower, of the Coils of Bahamut, the resigned smile on G’raha Tia’s face, Louisoix’s wisened one in the end, and that inferno reached a fever pitch. And when they could not pass the barrier to the flying fortress, it flared one final time, Kyler slamming his fists into the _Enterprise_ railing, and died.

Bent double, Kyler rested his forehead on the backs of his gauntlets, sick with the ashes of his anger. The wind moved through his hair and he felt heavy, so terribly heavy. The emptiness that had yawned in him after his battle with Bismarck engulfed him anew.

Unexpected, a hand stole onto his back, tentative, light. He shifted to show he’d noticed it, but could muster no more. One of his arms was moved out of the way and Alphinaud stepped into his sphere, embracing him, a hand on the back of his head. Something in him fractured at that, at how solidly this young man held him, how protectively. He didn’t think he had anything left to break.

“I’m so sorry, Kyler,” he told him, his voice soft enough that the words were his alone, that sparse phrase wrought deep with grief, with empathy.

Kyler wrapped his arms around his friend and held him fiercely.

Back at the Congregation, Kyler’s eyes connected with Aymeric’s, telling him “We came straight here,” before anything else could be said. His voice was ragged.

Aymeric was on his feet immediately, still looking tired, but more recovered than at their last discussion in his office. He crossed to Kyler, heedless of the presence of the others in the room - including Count Edmont - and put a hand on his arm. His blue eyes searched him keenly, roving him.

“We couldn’t keep him from Azys Lla,” Kyler said, and the words were bitter in his mouth, the failure feeling deeply personal. He’d failed to apprehend the man who’d ordered Aymeric harmed. “Nor could we follow him.” 

Aymeric pulled in a deep breath, held it for a beat, and let it out slowly, nodding. “You are unhurt?” he asked, voice low.

Kyler’s jaw tightened. Small favors, it seemed to him, but he knew were the roles reversed that would be his foremost concern as well. He nodded. Aymeric squeezed his arm.

Alphinaud and Cid were already plunging ahead into how they might proceed when Lucia appeared from a side chamber with a chair. She set it beside the Commander’s desk and met Kyler’s eyes, a sort of kind sternness in hers. If he didn’t accept the favor wordlessly, she’d insist he did aloud. He sat.

“Tataru has told me that she may have at last obtained a clue to the whereabouts of one of your companions,” Edmont said, and the last of Kyler’s faculties focused all his remaining attention to him. “If they prove true, you would have the assistance of an Archon, as you need.”

Alphinaud looked to Kyler, eyes wide with surprise and hope. Kyler wished he could muster any of the latter.

The fire in Aymeric’s chamber was built high. Kyler had always liked that particular hearth; it was double-sided, and so about twice as deep as a typical one, and if he bent his head just right he could see over the tinder and into Aymeric’s private sitting room beyond. It was a charming quirk of architecture, one that Aymeric had informed him was mirrored nowhere else in the house. 

A soft knock sounded, Aymeric compulsively courteous even though he was entering his own bedchamber. He swung the door back expertly with elbow and knee, a tea tray in his hands. Kyler knew better by now than to try to disentangle himself from the blanket he was wrapped in to assist him; he’d been kindly though firmly dissuaded often enough in the past even if now, of all times, he ought to accept. Aymeric set the tray down on the little table before the fire and perched on the sofa Kyler reclined on, sitting in the crook made by the angle of his hips.

“You slept deeply,” Aymeric said. 

“Thank the Gods,” Kyler agreed, freeing one arm to embrace him. Aymeric leaned into him easily, resting his head on his chest, the wide curls of his hair splayed out on the blanket.

“So much so that what normally would have woken you did not,” he said.

“Yesterday was,” Kyler hesitated. He considered something objective like _taxing_ or _trying_ , but what slipped out was “Terrible.”

Aymeric tilted his head back to look into his face, eyes gently traveling his features. Only at length did he brush the slightest kiss over his lips. Kyler leaned his head forward to return it, soft but steady, before resting his forehead and nose to his, his eyes wandering shut. They lingered, breathing together. Kyler was so deeply grateful for the tenderness, the company, the welcome weight of him leaning on his chest, but there was a bitter pang to it. 

“How long do I have you?” Aymeric asked, familiar words turned hideous by recent events.

Kyler’s eyes snapped open. “As long as you will let me be yours,” he said, his words coming out more urgent than he intended. A sudden breath swelled Aymeric’s chest and he wrapped his arms around Kyler’s neck, his shoulders, hugging him tight.

“Yes,” he replied, clearly having realized what a previously mundane phrase had sounded like to him now. He pulled back to kiss him again once, twice, three times, as though proving to them both that they were safe and whole, for today at least. “I meant how long until you depart to chase Tataru’s clue?” he revised.

“As soon as I return to Fortemps manor, I expect,” Kyler murmured into the scant space between them.

Aymeric circled a finger around a lock of Kyler’s hair and hummed a response. “They would not begrudge you your rest, especially not after battling yet another Primal,” he observed.

“Nor would the Temple Knights begrudge you yours after your ordeal,” Kyler replied.

A small smile, tired and a touch sad, alighted on Aymeric’s lips. He settled further into Kyler’s embrace.

_There was a soft knock on the Fortemps library door. Aymeric and Kyler both gave a start, disentangling from one another’s arms as rapidly as they could manage, one of Aymeric’s hands flying to his own mouth as he flushed deep crimson, turning away from the door. Kyler tucked his own lips in against each other, hoping it was not blatantly obvious he’d been having a really quite excellent snog, saying “Come in,” before enough time had passed to be incriminating._

_“It’s only me,” Haurchefant said, poking his silver head through the hardly-cracked door, looking somewhat sheepish._

_Kyler did not contain a laugh of mingled relief and exasperation. “Haure,” he said, shaking his head and crossing the lavish carpet toward him._

_“Twasn’t my intent to scare you though I see that I did,” he said, slipping inside. Kyler glanced back at Aymeric just in time to see a flash of him smiling, biting his lip, before he covered it with his hand again, his eyes positively dancing with embarrassment. “My apologies,” Haure smiled, and seemed to truly mean it. “I only wanted to offer you this,” he produced a bottle of whiskey, and one that looked really quite fine at that._

_“Haurchefant,” Aymeric reacted, finally dropping his hand. His cheeks and ears were still rosy with his blush. It made him look vital, accentuating the youthfulness of his features, even a bit demure. “I did not know you were in the habit of encouraging your lover to drink with other men.” His eyes twinkled with the tease._

_Haure’s grin broadened, overtaking the whole of his expression, mischief in the angles of it. “Why my friend, I thought you would know me well enough by now - that I always encourage_ our _lover to allow himself a good time.”_

 _Aymeric’s expression transformed, softening, wistful and touched. “_ Our _lover,” he repeated._

_“You two,” Kyler leaned in to kiss Haurchefant, plucking the bottle from his hands. “Are too good to me,” he said, rejoining Aymeric to kiss him as well._

_“Nonsense,” said Aymeric as soon as their lips had parted._

_“Impossible,” said Haure, at almost the same moment. The three of them laughed, then, and Haure crossed to the desk by the large eastern window. Incongruously, he reached into one of the compartments and produced glasses._

_Kyler examined the bottle, grateful to see that it was the sort that was sealed first with a cork and then with sealing wax. The latter was perfectly intact, free of any signs of being tampered with. He was satisfied. He produced a knife to cut into it and expose the cork beneath._

_Aymeric could not fully mask his surprise, which prompted an exchange of looks between Haure and Kyler, knowing._

_“He always has at least one on him somewhere,” Haure told Aymeric, voice nearly conspiratorial. “You can almost make a game of trying to figure out where it is on any given day.”_

_“Old habits and all that,” Kyler said, sheathing it._

_“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aymeric said, joining them at the desk._

_“Well, I’ve made my delivery,” Haure said, smiling and putting his hands comfortably on his hips. “I’ll leave you to it.”_

_“Unless you’d like to have a drink with us?” Kyler said, looking from one to the other. Aymeric’s lips parted in surprise. “I know we have precious little time together. Would you object?” he asked him._

_“Far be it from me to refuse a man whiskey in his own house,” Aymeric said._

_“Tell me truthfully,” Kyler took one of his hands and held it, studying his beautiful blue eyes. They seemed darker than they really were in the low light._

_“I will not blame you if you want him to yourself, Aymeric,” Haure said softly, amiably._

_Aymeric looked to Haurchefant then, squeezing Kyler’s hand. “It’s been some time since we’ve had a drink together, isn’t it my friend?”_

_Haure grinned and retrieved another glass._

_“And longer still since we’ve had something this fine,” Aymeric admitted, noting the label._

_“In truth,” Haure began, pouring deftly. “This comes from Emmanellain, with his compliments.”_

_Aymeric and Kyler both turned to him, eyes wide._

_“I knew it,” Kyler said._

_Haure smirked._

_“I_ knew _he listened at keyholes, that rogue,” he laughed._

_“He learned from the best,” Haurchefant said, clearly meaning himself._

_“I knew it!” Kyler said again, grinning, reaching over to tweak Haure’s collar._

_“Oh dear,” said Aymeric, softly, his hand tightening in Kyler’s._

_“He has sworn up and down not to breathe a word,” Haurchefant assured him, passing him the first glass. “And he has also noted that even if it were to get out that you had the affections of a certain adventurer, it would only conflict with_ other _rumors that same adventurer was dallying with a Knight of the household who took him in, reducing the credence of either story.” Haure passed Kyler his glass, a downright cheeky smile on his face._

_“Troublemaker,” Kyler called him over the rim of his whiskey before taking a sip, fire warming him to his core, the aftertaste of smoke pleasant on his tongue._

_“It takes one to know one, my love,” Haurchefant winked._

_“I never thought of it that way, I will confess,” Aymeric said, tilting his glass in his hand, making the liquor swirl and flash in the lamplight. “Regarding the...rumors. That you are both incorrigible I of course was well aware.” He took a drink of the whiskey and closed his eyes in approval for a moment._

_“And that on top of any preexisting talk.” Aymeric blushed anew at that. “Imagine,” Haure grinned, continuing in spite of it. “How much more confusing it might be for the gossip-mongers should further matches be supposed?”_

_“Further matches?” Kyler raised an eyebrow at Haurchefant._

_“You never know,” he said and drank._

_“Is this one of your elaborate imaginings, Haurchefant, or are you proposing something?” Aymeric said, pinning him with a clear, steady look._

_Haurchefant blushed, surprising Kyler. “I wasn’t thinking of ought specific,” he said, though it was obvious that was far from the truth._

_Kyler laughed. “Haure, you always were terrible at lying to men you liked,” he said, feeling merciless, and drank, keeping his eyes on him. He was rewarded with the sight of Haure’s blush deepening._

_Haurchefant laughed softly in a rare moment of shyness._

_“Is that what this is, then?” Aymeric asked, suddenly all suaveness now that Haure was the meek one in the room. “A bit of loosening up for me and liquid courage for you?”_

_Haurchefant sputtered, nearly choking on a sip of whiskey. “Aymeric, I would never…! I promise you that was not my intention--”_

_“He knows, Haure,” Kyler said gently, eagerly watching both their faces. Haurchefant set down his glass and hung his head, smiling at himself, thoroughly caught, soft chuckles shaking his shoulders. Aymeric was clearly pleased with himself, his smile twisted into nearly gleeful shapes. He slipped Kyler a wink while Haurchefant wasn’t looking._

_“Well,” Haure looked back up, still rosy from his embarrassment. “Now that I have thoroughly made a fool of myself, shall we get comfortable?”_

_Aymeric’s eyes sparkled, picking up the bottle from the desk. “Let’s,” his eyes flashed in delight, and Kyler fancied it was at the both of them._

_*_

_They whiled away the hours, the three of them, drinking and talking of everything from the most outlandish requests Kyler had received to misadventures from out of Aymeric and Haurchefant’s youth._

_“How did the two of you meet?” Kyler asked suddenly, realizing he didn’t know. He relished watching Aymeric and Haurchefant’s eyes connect, the smiles they shared with one another._

_“I do believe it was after you were knighted,” Aymeric said, tilting his head thoughtfully._

_“That was when we were introduced, yes,” Haurchefant said, polishing off his latest glass of whiskey. “But I had known of you for years,” he told him._

_Aymeric’s eyes opened a touch wider, a hint of surprise._

_“Well of course,” Haure said, giving him an utterly charming and rather lopsided smile. “One of the two shining stars of the Temple Knights, young Sers Aymeric and Estinien. They were ever the talk of Ishgard,” Haure supplied for Kyler’s benefit._

_“For being of low birth, perhaps,” Aymeric arced one shapely eyebrow and drank to the sentiment. Kyler was only half-surprised by this, recalling his speech to Alphinaud what seemed a lifetime ago about ‘what sort of man becomes the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights’._

_“At times, maybe, but that only made me admire the both of you the more,” Haurchefant told him. That recaptured Aymeric’s attention, his eyes shining. “The two of you are older than I am, though only by a few years, yet still it was enough for me to want to be like you, ever above the idle chatter of people eager to see fault where lay only coincidence of birth, respected for your skill in spite of it. To be frank,” he blushed a bit. “Especially you. You were an excellent example for an impressionable young man with more clouds in his head than substance.”_

_“Now that last is over-harsh,” Aymeric said gently. “Both the lad you were and the man you are deserve kindness.”_

_Something in that sentiment moved Haure deeply, Kyler could see it in his face. He reached over to slip a hand onto Haurchefant’s knee, his lovesick darling. He slid his hand into Kyler’s, lacing their fingers comfortably._

_“Thank you, Aymeric,” he said softly._

_“It is only the truth,” Aymeric replied. “When I met you, after your knighting ceremony, you were full foremost of determination, to continue to show yourself worthy of the station you’d been granted. You were proud of yourself, as well you should have been,” his smile broadened. “But singularly enthusiastic to serve your city, her people.” He paused. “It was...instantly endearing.”_

_Haurchefant chuckled, remembering. “I was fortunate to not have been struck dumb at meeting you,” he shook his head. “I was so nervous. I felt I had a long ways to go, to catch up to you. I wanted nothing more.”_

_“And how does success feel?” Aymeric asked. Haure practically gave a start at the sentiment._

_“Aymeric, I am hardly--”_

_“One of the finest knights in Ishgard,” Aymeric said, sipping his drink and watching him over the rim of the glass._

_Haurchefant seemed to puff up at first, glowing with the praise, but then it quieted. He looked into the fire, thinking, and at length replied, “The work is never done. There is ever something more to do, something more to learn, and I am grateful to pursue it still.”_

_Aymeric studied his face, clearly moved, and nodded. Perhaps he too was a little lovesick for Haurchefant. What a wonderful set of fools they all were for each other._

_“I love you,” Kyler told Haure, leaning in to kiss his cheek._

_“And I you,” he murmured back, returning the kiss to his lips._

_Kyler turned to Aymeric, their eyes connecting, and knew that he loved him, too. How could he not? They both made it so easy, easy as falling into step with them, as sitting on the plush rugs of the Fortemps library in front of the fire and drinking together. But he wanted to tell him privately, give him a moment unobserved, one that was all his. He reached for him instead, Aymeric giving him his hand, and Kyler kissed the back of it._

_“And what of you two?” Aymeric said. “When did you first meet?”_

_Kyler and Haure shared a smile at the memory._

_“Well,” Kyler began. “You once told me that you, what was it?” he put a finger to his chin in mock thoughtfulness, bringing Haure’s hand along with his, as he was unwilling to let go of it. Haure laughed at his little performance. “ ‘Watched my movements with an interest bordering on fascination’?”_

_Aymeric sputtered into his glass, the first time Kyler had seen him do such a thing. He chuckled in spite of the embarrassed look Aymeric gave him; he squeezed his hand by way of apology._

_“I believe that was it, yes,” Haurchefant supplied, smiling brightly._

_“So when do_ you _suppose we met?” Kyler asked, feeling playful. Spending time with Haurchefant tended to have that effect on him._

 _“Well,” Aymeric blushed thoroughly. “My guess would be when you were in search of the_ Enterprise _?” Kyler gave him a nod. “Though having the right of it is far from hearing of it in your own words.” He was nearly pouting._

_Kyler thought back to those days, Haure giving his hand a squeeze, and began._


	3. No Rest for the Righteous

It was approaching noon when they were interrupted. 

“I thought I would find you both here,” Estinien said when he joined them, his rough voice gentler than Kyler had ever heard it before. He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed lightly.

“Estinien,” Aymeric reacted, sitting up fully, unperturbed as always to have the Azure Dragoon in his chambers. That Aymeric never blushed when Estinien saw him and Kyler together spoke volumes. 

Estinien’s vivid, pale grey eyes alighted on Kyler and stayed there, an unspoken question behind his ever-guarded expression.

“I’m alright,” he said, sitting up. “All things considered.”

Estinien’s eyes dodged away from him then. Aymeric rose to his feet, joining him. Kyler noted that he stood close to him, the same way that he breached his own space in limited company, the same way he’d begun to do with Haure, before-- A lump formed in his throat. Kyler had known Aymeric and Estinien had a history by the former’s own admission, but this proximity, too, was telling. He wasn’t sure precisely what it hinted at and frankly he was too tired to devote thought to it.

“Lucia was considering looking for you,” Estinien said softly. “And Alphinaud for you,” he added to Kyler. “I figured you were both here and headed them off.”

“Thank you,” Aymeric sighed, placing his hands over his face and leaving them momentarily before rubbing a bit as though to wake himself.

“Wouldn’t do for someone else to find you both abed now would it?” Estinien quipped, but it had no force to it, no ire. It might have even been a touch of a tease.

Aymeric gave him a look. “Don’t make me regret that you know all my secrets,” he said, but placed a hand on his arm, it lingering there even as he turned and moved toward his wardrobe.

Estinien raised an eyebrow as though he had a reply ready but said nothing.

“Alphinaud is ready to leave?” Kyler asked.

Estinien nodded. “Or he will be by now.”

Kyler sat up, stretching his neck, setting the blanket aside. He just sat there for a moment, dreading what was to come. 

“Aren’t you going to find one of your Scions?” Estinien asked.

Kyler was slow to meet his eyes. “I fear what we will find,” he said softly. The muscles in Estinien’s jaw stood out and he broke their gaze.

Knowing there was nothing for it but to get it over with, Kyler pushed himself to his feet, crossed to Aymeric where he was getting dressed. He had to fight the urge to stutter in his motion at the sight of bandages peeking out at him. _He’s alright_ , he reminded himself silently. _The chirurgeons took care of him and still will, he’s healing well_. Leaning in, he gave him a kiss and murmured an “I love you.” He headed to the door, tapping Estinien’s arm affectionately with the back of one hand as he passed him. He smacked Kyler lightly in the small of his back in return before he was out of reach, the motion much greater than the impact, and the casual antagonism was a strange comfort. Bracing himself, Kyler headed out into the cold.

“Hello Kyler,” Alphinaud said as he entered the Fortemps family manor. He was dressed and ready, though he fussed with the cuff of one of his gloves. “Did you manage to get some rest?”

“Yes, thank you, Alphinaud,” he replied. He remembered again how much it had meant to him when he’d comforted him the day before and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at him anew, surprised, and Kyler managed to give him a hint of a smile; he wasn’t up to the task of putting to words his gratitude. Alphinaud smiled back, seeming to understand, and leaned in to embrace him again.

“Ooh!” Tataru reacted as she came into the room, hurrying over. “Make room!” 

Kyler chuckled, kneeling so that they could hug properly, Alphinaud bending to put a hand on her back. Throat tightening with gratitude this time, Kyler hugged them both tighter, Tataru making a slight sound of “oh!” as he lifted her partially off her feet.

“Sorry,” he said, releasing her. He couldn’t say aloud how much it meant, having them with him. His little family. If he did he would cry again and he was certain other things would move him near to tears before the day was out. He didn’t want to add to that list.

“Ooh, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Tataru beamed up at him, leaning on him one last time before straightening up. “Now, I’ve already arranged for us to meet Marshal Tarupin. I asked him to search the waterways under Ul’dah and he says he’s found something. Urianger will be meeting us to speak with him.”

“Good,” Kyler responded; it would be for the best if all of them were present, though the mention of the tunnels and whatever had been found twisted his guts. He didn’t like his chances, in terms of what Pipin had to show them.

“Where are we meeting him?” Alphinaud asked.

“The Hall of Flames,” Tataru replied. A flicker of worry crossed her face. “He wouldn’t say what it was he found.”

Alphinaud sucked in a great breath that swelled his svelte chest, sighing out “Right.” He looked up, locking eyes with Kyler. He looked grim, but determined. “Shall we?”

There was no use waiting. “Let’s go,” he said. They were bound for the desert once again.

_The snow was coming down with an intensity Kyler had never seen before, but it was easy to pay it no mind. He was curled up, his knees nearly level with his chin, nestled into Haurchefant’s side. They were both wrapped in an almost comically oversized blanket on the end of one of the couches nearest the hearth. It was bold of them, perhaps the boldest they’d been, but the hour was so late it could nearly be said to be early and the rest of the household was long asleep. It was only the two of them, the snap of the fire in the grate, and the twinkle of Starlight garlands on fir trees. They’d both had borderline too much eggnog - or more specifically too much of the brandy that went into the eggnog - and it made them carefree. Kyler laughed, listening to another of Haure’s stories, and rested his head on his shoulder._

_“After that I was never allowed to bring another chocobo on the property, much less train one here,” he said, chuckling at the expense of a younger version of himself. “Though Father did encourage me to keep at it.”_

_“Hence why Nocturne is the best bird in all of Eorzea, other than perhaps Tide,” Kyler smiled at him._

_“I am glad you think so, my dear,” he replied, smiling so warmly it touched his eyes._

_Drawn in by the tenderness of his look, Kyler tilted his head further toward him, not raising his from his shoulder, but still closing the distance between them to kiss his mouth. He tasted of nutmeg. Haure hummed and returned it, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he kissed his nose, next._

_“What of you, Kyler?” he asked suddenly, putting one hand on his knee beneath the blanket with enough force for it to make a little sound._

_“What do you mean?” he asked, taking another drink. He was warm and loose and happy, and the alcohol was only helping those matters._

_“I bend your ears with nonsense about my family regularly, and yet I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you talk of yours.”_

_Kyler’s eyes opened wide, the sentiment sobering him, if only just. A half-smile pulled at his mouth and he set his head on Haure’s collar again._

_“Oh dear,” Haurchefant said. “I do think the spirits have made me insensitive. I’m sorry.”_

_“You’re fine,” he smiled up at him, kissing his jaw for good measure. “The truth is,” he paused, considering how much to say, whether it would ruin the mood. But he wanted to trust him with this, with everything, he always had. The matter of his memory was a good place to start. “I don’t remember.”_

_“Oh?” he prompted after a pause._

_“Mm,” Kyler’s thumb circled the rim of his mug. “I told you that I traveled to Ul’dah when I decided I wanted to become an adventurer, didn’t I?”_

_“Yes,” he said. “That it was there you began training, with the Gladiator’s guild.”_

_Kyler nodded against him, and realized that he wanted to see his face when he told him this. He lifted his head to look at him. Haurchefant was still rosy from the warmth and the drink - his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the tips of his ears flushed - but his blue eyes were steady, watching him. “My first memory is of waking up in a small town in Thanalan with an adventurer beside my bed. She told me she’d found me in the desert, passed out, that she’d made sure I was stable before she and her friend managed to get me to shelter. She waited with me for two days. All I knew was my own name.”_

_Haurchefant’s hand tightened on Kyler’s knee._

_“Her name is Emi,” he smiled. “I still talk with her, when I get the chance. She’s a white mage now.”_

_Abruptly, Haurchefant hugged him close. Kyler was grateful his mug was almost empty, or else he might have spilled it from the sudden motion. “Haure,” he said softly, and let him hold him._

_“I am so grateful she found you,” he said, and released him to look into his face again. His eyes were shining._

_“So am I,” he smiled, stroking his cheek with his free hand. “That’s why I chose Ul’dah; it was the closest city-state, and a merchant she was acquainted with was headed that way. And,” he paused, eyes drifting to the fire. “That’s why I keep journals. The town medics couldn’t find anything physically wrong with me, other than dehydration and heat exhaustion. I still don’t know why I lost my memory or how. If it,” he faltered. “If it ever happens again, I want a record of some things. Something to come back to, so I know who I am...who I care for.” He felt his face heating up. “Like the Scions...and you.” He glanced up and something inscrutable was in Haurchefant’s face._

_He freed his arms from the blanket, took Kyler’s mug, and set it and his own aside on a little table nearby._

_“Haure?” he asked quietly._

_Haurchefant gathered Kyler into his arms and into his lap, holding him close. “I love you,” he said into his shoulder, his voice muffled._

_“I love you,” he answered quietly, and wrapped his arms around him, stroking his silver-grey hair. “As much as I worry,” he began again softly after a long moment. “I haven’t forgotten anything like that since. And, well,” he traced the swirl of his cowlick, where his hair switched directions at the crown on his head. “I get...strong feelings, sometimes. Clear, instinctive impressions. Foolish as it might sound, I...would hope that I’d know you.”_

_Haure drew away to meet his eyes again. “Kyler, I would tell you everything. All of your amazing deeds, your triumphs and your failures alike, about your companions and your friends and your foes. Everything you have ever told me, and when it was done, however you wanted us to be, whoever I was to you in that moment, I would be him for you.”_

_Kyler’s eyes prickled and stung. “Haure,” was all he could manage as he held on, clinging to him, overwhelmed with his sincerity._

_“I will always be here for you, Kyler.”_

_“I know.” He smiled into his collar._

Kyler found himself thinking of how punishing the climate of Ul’dah would be to a man used to the perpetual snows of Coerthas. All the same, he could picture easily Haurchefant’s wide eyes as he tried to take in everything around him at once, full of wonder at the Jewel of the Desert. How it would have been if he had ever had the chance to bring him here. How the bustle of the streets would have excited him, how he would have wanted to see everything (but perhaps especially the guild where Kyler had gotten his start, and how dazzled he would have been to meet the First Sword). Before he knew it, they were at the Hall of Flames, and Pipin was reassuring them that they had not found the bodies of any of the Scions. This was a relief, but it felt strange, distant, as though it wasn’t fully real yet.

“What we did find was this,” he said, and produced a familiar length of wood, worked to appear as a living branch, with a curled head and green leaves still sprouting from it.

“Y’shtola’s wand!” Tataru exclaimed. 

Kyler saw again her and Thancred’s backs, them standing nearly shoulder to shoulder, braced against the oncoming Crystal Braves and Brass Blades pursuing them, their shouts and running a terrible cacophony rebounding off the tunnel walls.

He focused on the present again with Urianger and Alphinaud discussing where they might go to try to detect an Aetherial trail they hoped she may have left behind, something about a forbidden teleportation spell. Kyler still couldn’t hope. He wanted to, but all he felt was hollow.

The ruins stared back at him, the sandy facade seeming unnaturally matte, flat, even. A cheap recreation of the place he’d escaped that night, alone, Minfilia bidding him to leave her behind, having heard Mother Hydaelyn again at last. Before him was a set piece, the backdrop of one of the worst nights of his life, garish and glaring under the desert sun. He found himself clutching at the place where his ribs arced away from his sternum.

“Kyler?” 

His focus shifted to Alphinaud, his brows quirked in concern. Even he looked too flat, a mockery of his dear friend. Kyler labored his way through a slow blink. 

“Yes?” he prompted, and his voice sounded unfamiliar to his own ears.

“Urianger said Y’shtola is almost certainly adrift in the Lifestream near the Twelveswood. We must needs petition the Elder Seedseer for assistance with the Elementals if we’re to rescue her.”

He nodded, feeling his joints creak. “Let’s go.”

Kyler turned on his heel and strode away. He couldn’t leave that place behind fast enough.

Even seeing her form emerge from the Aether with the help of the Elementals, Kan-E-Senna, and Y'mhitra’s presence to guide them only made Kyler’s stomach knot itself tighter. Though they confirmed she breathed, that her heart beat, Kyler’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides so hard his nails bit into his palms. Nothing was certain. Nothing. She may never wake; she could wake like him, remembering nothing.

“Kyler,” Tataru began gently, as though she could sense the bent-to-breaking tension in him. “I’ve something I’ve been working on, a surprise for her, for when she wakes.” He could hardly parse her optimistic certainty. “Two parts of it are finished and need picking up, would you like--?”

“Something to do, yes, please,” he said immediately. He couldn’t bear waiting around in the Roost any longer, and his agitation was so great that he vowed he’d do whatever she needed without the use of the Aethernet. Tataru smiled up at him.

“The Masters of the Leatherwork and Conjuring guilds have them ready,” she told him. “Tell them I sent you and that should be enough; they’re already paid for.”

“Excellent,” he said, already in motion toward the door.

Outside the new leaves of the Twelveswood shivered in the wind, the lively green of fresh growth everywhere. It brought him little comfort. He strode through Gridania with purpose, navigating the various crowds practically without seeing them, the steady beat of his own footfalls the only thing keeping him tethered to the here and now.

_Haurchefant’s expression was intense as he let himself into the sitting room. There was something stormy in it, something unlike anything Kyler had ever seen before._

_“Haure?” Kyler asked softly, sitting up further from where he’d been curled up in an inexcusably comfortable armchair._

_Haurchefant’s attention jolted to him, that raw_ something _still lingering, but it cleared, mostly, as he smiled, dampening the remnants of his earlier expression._

_“Hello darling,” he said, crossing toward him. Before he could arrive Kyler rose to kiss him, wrapping him in his arms._

_“What’s wrong?” He asked softly._

_His eyes widened before he smiled more fully, bashful. “Oh, nothing,” he rubbed the back of his own neck for a moment. “Nothing new, anyroad.”_

_“Haure,” Kyler said to catch his attention, their eyes connecting in the scant space between them. “If you’d rather not, I understand, but I will listen.”_

_His blue eyes shifted as he searched Kyler’s, the light from the window glancing off of strokes of color in their depths like the facets of a cut stone. He seemed nervous, but, pulling in a deep breath, he sighed out a beginning. “I...find myself missing Camp Dragonhead.”_

_“Oh?” Kyler prompted when he paused for a long moment, rubbing his back a little where one of his hands had come to rest._

_“Dragonhead is what I’ve made of it,” he said suddenly. “And, bastard or not, I am it’s Lord.”_

_In that one simple statement Kyler perceived a well of hurt, deep, to the core of him, even to the foundation of his self. He took his hand and led him to one of the couches, drawing him down to sit with him, close, with Kyler cheated toward him. Like they sat in his chambers in Dragonhead. Whether through conscious recognition or by reflex, Haure put a hand on Kyler’s knee and drew his legs up so they were across his lap._

_“It’s true that Fortemps has ever interacted with outsiders the most, Dragonhead being the largest and best-established camp in Coerthas, but how it is now is_ my _doing, and I am proud of the fact. I know what it is to be spurned, to be on the receiving end of Ishgard’s petty insularity. All my life I’ve been an outsider inside her walls.”_

_Kyler watched and listened; it seemed that now that he’d begun, Haurchefant wasn’t likely to stumble and stop. He was glad of it._

_“Even in my own family,” his voice dropped lower to say, tight now with bitterness. “Father did his best, but while his wife was alive,” the muscles in his jaw stood out stark for a moment. “There was little he could do. Any affection he showed me, any favor at all, had to be hidden; if she or any of her acquaintances saw he would hear of it, endlessly. And though he insisted I be raised here her hatred of me bled into everything, into how the servants acted, to avoid her ire, into...how my half-brothers acted._

_“Emmanellain was never purposefully cruel, never vicious, only ignorant of how his words and actions could sting. Sometimes still. Artoirel,” he sighed. “I think he truly loathed me. For many years. For much of our childhood he simply ignored me. There was a time I would not let him, making a nuisance of myself until he could not, but what happened when that came to a head,” he shook his, as though he didn’t want to dwell on it. “Convinced me it was better to let him. He has said more words to me together since you and Tataru and Alphinaud arrived than he’s said to me in whole months at a stretch. And Father,” he bowed his head a little, running his thumb back and forth over the place it rested on Kyler’s shin. “I believe he wants to make all those years up to me, now, and ill knows how. Not that I do,” he tilted his head, a concession granted in thinking it over. “But he wants to try. I am grateful for that much, but it doesn’t remove the hurt of other people’s cruel attention.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Kyler said softly, and meant it, when it seemed that he wouldn’t go on._

_Haure turned to look at him, a hint of almost surprise in his expression, as though he’d forgotten where he was. He gave him a crooked smile. “You have naught to be sorry for, Kyler.”_

_“Not in this case, but I can offer you sympathy. No child, no person should have to be punished the way you were. No one can help how they were born,” he said._

_“Precisely,” he agreed, the emphasis in his tone clear there was a kind of catharsis in hearing it said by someone other than himself. “And yet Ishgard is dedicated to doing just that, to punishing people for the circumstances of their birth, over and over and over again, for any reason it can invent.”_

_“Ishgard is sadly not alone in that,” Kyler said, quiet and grim. “The world beyond her walls is an incredible place, and I’ve seen some of the best...and some of the worst of it.” Haurchefant watched him. He didn’t look curious, but rather as though he was listening intently. “Gridania, too, is insular almost to the point of xenophobia,” he told him. “Outsiders were as unwelcome in the Black Shroud as they are in Ishgard until recently, as I understand. And even amongst their Wood Wailers, Gods’ Quiver, and Twin Adders hatred of Duskwights runs rampant.” Haure’s hand tightened on Kyler’s leg slightly, recognition of the fact that this was something Kyler knew not from a distance but personally: even if he didn’t remember where he was from, he bore the complexion of a Duskwight. “Some of them conceal their bigotry; others seem to flaunt it. Both are insidious. And Ul’dah,” he sighed. “Is a patchwork of the most affluent and most destitute in Thanalan. Refugees from the Calamity and heinously rich monetarists and merchants mixed up together in the same city. And you can bet that the crimes of the desperate are used to paint the innocent poor with the broad strokes of the same brush.” Silence unfurled between them, huddled close amidst the ugliness of their world. “I’m sorry,” he said, venturing to break it. “These things don’t bear on our conversation.”_

_“No, they do,” Haure replied. “And I needed to hear them. They don’t_ help _, per se, but,” his mouth hitched up on one side in a slight smile. “It makes me eager to continue my work at Dragonhead. To have there be a place where anyone, so long as they abide by our laws, might come and make a difference.”_

_The notion, the conviction in his voice and his face, made Kyler smile, the full sort that took over all his features. He leaned in and planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Haure jumped a bit and chuckled as though he hadn’t expected it. “You’re an excellent man,” he told him._

_“I don’t do it for myself,” he said abruptly, serious once more. “But for those who are yet to come.”_

_All of a sudden, Kyler felt as though he was falling in love with him all over again. “All the more reason it’s so,” he said softly, and leaned in to kiss him properly this time._

Brother E-Sumi-Yan said something about the staff he’d made being so powerful even he would struggle to wield it; the head of the Leatherworkers’ Guild spoke of the rarity, and the expense, of the chimaera leather that went into the resulting coat. Tataru had gone to extreme lengths. Perhaps that was the one way she could console herself: to procure the best of the best, to give herself something that made her excited for Y’shtola’s return. Anything was better than the horrid, gnawing dread at the pit of Kyler’s stomach. He didn’t blame her in the least. The further he walked through Gridania, the more he wished he could join her in that excitement.

His feet carried him back to the Roost and he only realized he’d arrived when the sounds of his steps changed from the grit of dirt roads to the rap of his boot heels on wood floors. His eyes wandered up and met Alphinaud’s, the young man’s expression writ in shapes of urgency. Kyler’s mind slowly caught up to the fact that he was in Y’shtola’s partially-open doorway, his hand on the jamb. 

“She’s awake,” he said, and he smiled. Tears stood in his eyes.

The words went through his mind like a fired shot. Forgetting what he carried, he rushed forward, nearly striking Alphinaud with the staff on the way, needing to see it for himself: and there she was, sitting up in her bed, her sister at her side, a slight smile on her face. Kyler froze. Someone took the things out of his arms. Y’shtola looked herself with one singular change: her eyes were milky white.

“Hello, Kyler,” she said, and the rich tones of her voice saying even that, so little, buckled the last supports of a dam in him.

A torrent of emotion chased through him and he went to her, taking her hand. He wanted to sweep her into an embrace, to laugh, to shout, to go to a million pieces, but all that he could muster was a smile so broad it hurt the muscles of his face and to say, softly, his voice breaking, “Y’shtola.”

She smiled at him, pulling on his hand, and embraced him. Only then did he feel the tears on his face and he let them wash over him. He cried in her arms, and for the first time in what felt like years, it was for relief. Relief, and hope. Minfilia had bade him bear it and he had carried it all these malms as well as he could, keeping none for himself, until that instant, holding his friend close and feeling her warm and real and alive. If she had survived, perhaps she wasn’t the only one.

Kyler lingered with Alphinaud and Urianger outside, giving the ladies privacy so that Y’shtola could change into the ensemble Tataru had prepared for her. He thought he would feel sick of crying, but this time had been different. As they waited Urianger had clasped his shoulder and smiled at him; that his nose was rosy told Kyler he might not be the only one who’d gotten choked up and he knew it for a certainty when he noticed him adjusting his - likely somewhat fogged - goggles.

“Gods but I’d forgotten what good news felt like,” Alphinaud said with a breathy chuckle, looking up at Kyler. He put a hand on the young man’s back and rubbed it, swaying him with the motion.

“So had I,” he replied.

Y’shtola emerged then, clad in black and white with red accents, the hem of her coat down to her calves and the cuffs of her leather boots nearer to the tops of her thighs than her knees. She strode forward, purposeful, the picture of confidence.

“Shtola, are you certain you are ready to dive back into your work?” Y'mhitra asked, lingering at her side and looking concerned.

“Quite,” she responded with a quick, assertive confidence that was deeply welcome and familiar. “Now, what is it you need?”

“I’ll go on ahead,” Kyler volunteered, perhaps too hurriedly. The information he bore was important, to be sure, but more than that he missed Aymeric. Their time amidst the dusty stacks of the Great Gubal Library had only made him yearn for the one in House Fortemps, of stolen time there with Haurchefant, tenuous moments he hadn’t realized he’d held dear. Of course he hadn’t: he hadn’t known they were in short supply.

“By Aetheryte, I take it?” Alphinaud asked, something knowing in his look. He, like Kyler, figured Y’shtola would perhaps prefer an airship after her long stay in the Lifestream.

“That was my intent, yes,” he replied.

Alphinaud nodded. “We’ll follow.”

“Are you attuned as well, Alphinaud?” Y’shtola asked, attention suddenly on them. She’d been having a rather spirited discussion with her former master, Matoya. The only thing that had given away that it wasn’t an argument was the pleased sway and curl of Y’shtola’s tail.

“Yes, of course,” he replied.

“Then we’ll be along shortly,” she said, her attention shifting to Kyler even though he knew now that she did not see with her eyes. Her tone stated clearly she brooked no room for argument or question, so Kyler did not try. She returned to her conversation with Matoya.

“You’ll speak to Aymeric,” Alphinaud said softly. Though he was saying it to confirm the fact, it was not a question.

“Yes,” he nodded. Kyler found in that moment that he wasn’t flustered any longer by Alphinaud knowing the nature of his relationship with him nor, it seemed, was the opposite true any longer. That, at least, brought a hint of a smile to his lips.

“Take your time,” Alphinaud told him. “Though if you’d mention the idea of using the Eye to him I would appreciate it. I’ll speak with Cid.”

“Thank you, Alphinaud,” he said, putting a hand on the young Scion’s shoulder and squeezing it. Alphinaud reached up to give it a pat, smiling up at him, before Kyler took it back, his feet rising from the floor, the weightlessness of Aetherial travel lifting him.

In Ishgard, a light snow was falling. The air was still, nearly pleasant, even, as the sun, diffuse behind a blanket of cloud, reached into the Western sky. As Kyler arrived at the Congregation, the knight at Aymeric’s door noticed him and began to open it before he could even speak.

“Lord Commander,” said the Ser to get his attention, and left it at that. 

Aymeric looked up, already standing behind his desk, Lucia, as ever, at his elbow. His light blue eyes cut through the distance between them, his expression transforming with relief, with quiet happiness. There were roses in his cheeks; he looked healthier, and much better rested, and tension Kyler hadn’t realized he’d been carrying dropped from his shoulders.

“Kyler,” Aymeric said, and his voice, too, was mended. He stepped out from behind his desk to meet him and immediately embraced him. Instinctively, Kyler reached to hug him back, though a logical part of his mind was shocked. Even if Lucia knew, this was the most open he’d been with Kyler in the presence of another person. “You are well?” he asked immediately, pulling back so his eyes could rove his face.

“Yes,” Kyler smiled down at him and was overcome with the urge to kiss him. That, he felt, was a step too far without asking. “And you?”

“Yes,” Aymeric said, and drew himself up, pulling Kyler down to him, and gave him a peck on the lips. Kyler felt himself flush, but he was grateful, so grateful for even that much.

“Good,” he said softly as Aymeric took him by the hand and led him back over toward the desk. Lucia once more put out a chair for him. “Why not join us, to hear the news?” Aymeric said to her. “If you don’t mind it,” he looked to Kyler.

“No,” he answered, sitting. “Of course not.” And he launched into it, as briefly as he could manage, recounting retrieving Y’shtola from the Lifestream, going to Idyllshire, seeking Master Matoya’s help, of having to battle through the Library.

“She was able to translate the work so that Cid could understand it. The only thing we need is a source of a tremendous amount of Aether, but Alphinaud has an idea: the Eye.”

Aymeric’s eyebrows came up as he considered the notion, leaning back in his seat to think.

“We assume using it in this way would require Estinien’s cooperation.”

“Yes, but,” he gave him a thoughtful look, one corner of his mouth coming up in a smile. “It just might work. I’ll speak with him about it.”

“Will he agree, do you think?” Lucia asked.

“There is a certain irony that _we_ should seek to use the remaining vestiges of Nidhogg’s power to pursue the most powerful man in Ishgard. I do not think that will be lost on him. Regardless,” his attention moved to Kyler. “Even if the eye was not needed, I think he would wish to fight by your side in this.” Something in his look, or perhaps how he said it, told him there was more he might say when they were alone.

“If that is all the news, then I shall leave you to yourselves,” Lucia said suddenly, rising. 

Aymeric blinked up at her, but before he could say anything she went on.

“You’ve been worried into distraction, Aymeric,” she said flatly, leveling him with a look that could freeze sap in the limb. “Take the afternoon.”

“We don’t know how long before the converger is ready-” he began.

“Longer than the rest of today, I’ll warrant. I shall ask, and tell Estinien you have a question for him tomorrow besides, if I manage to find him. Go.”

Aymeric turned a little pinker around the edges. “Very well,” he said quietly, and let her sweep out of the room.

“Is she always that stern with you?” Kyler asked, holding back a chuckle.

“When she’s trying to get me away from my work, that and worse,” he answered, rising. “But I need not be told twice to spend time with you.” He leaned down and kissed him properly, his lips soft and tender and warm against Kyler’s. He sighed into it; something in it was a relief. As it ended and Aymeric’s eyes crept open his eyelashes ghosted over Kyler’s skin, the most delicate of caresses.

“Come,” he said, taking him by the hand and drawing him out of his chair, across the stone floor and into the afternoon.

They finally retreated to House Borel, early evening following on their coattails. As soon as they were inside Aymeric took Kyler’s hand, laced their fingers, and began leading him toward the stairs. It struck Kyler that they hadn’t been greeted at the door, that Aymeric was being so blatant.

“No Steward to scandalize today?” he asked, a hint of good humor shining through. It felt like ice in his blood thawing, the shuddering groan before the snap of it breaking.

“He has an errand that will take him until the morrow,” Aymeric answered, leading him up the stairs and to his chambers. Kyler hardly had time to thank his lucky stars. The moment they were behind closed doors Aymeric took him by the front of his shirt and pulled him down into a kiss, his plush lips moving against Kyler’s. Kyler hummed and sighed into it, a kind of relief moving through him, bittersweet and soothing at once. 

Aymeric’s hands moved to his face, breaking the kiss to search Kyler’s eyes, his full of a quiet and steady focus. “I love you,” he told him softly.

“I love you, Aymeric,” he replied, and let him lead him back into a kiss with an aching happiness. 

Before long Aymeric’s hands were traveling him, finding hems and buttons and laces, slowly revealing more and more of his skin. In turn Kyler sought for buckles and clasps, carefully removing armor and ornaments both and then clothing too. But as he reached the point that should have surrendered up the sight of his bare shoulders, instead bandages stared back at him. Kyler froze. They were crisp and clean, but that he still needed them ground all else in his mind to a halt. Though Kyler stood perfectly still he felt as though he was plummeting, a terrible, spiraling fall.

Aymeric could see the distress in his face, grew first keen and then grim as he realized what had caused it. He sighed. “Kyler,” he laid his hands on his cheeks again, gently. 

Kyler’s eyes were riveted to his chest, to the layers of fabric there, his heart roared in his ears, he was sweating and shaking—

“Kyler,” he said more insistently, ducking so that their eyes connected.

He fell into the flawless blue of Aymeric’s eyes and finally felt still again. As though from outside himself he found he was breathing hard. “I,” he labored to say. “I’m sorry.”

A hint of sadness touched Aymeric’s expression. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he told him, his voice gentle, quiet, sad. He pulled the collar of his shirt shut.

“I, you don’t have to,” Kyler floundered, frustrated at himself, now. 

“I did not mean to upset you,” Aymeric said.

“ _You_ didn’t,” he replied, suddenly needing him to understand that with an urgency. “Aymeric,” he said, more gently. “Of course you didn’t.” It was his turn to take his lover’s face in his hands, running his thumbs over his cheekbones, and he kissed him. As though to prove it was so, Kyler took his hand and led him to his bed, drawing him down to sit at its edge with him, kissing him again, determined to focus on it, to get lost in the feel of his lips as he had been before. After a long moment he steeled himself for whatever he might see and resumed undressing him. 

The whole of his torso was bandaged. A terrible shiver moved through Kyler at the sight, his skin crawling in its wake, but he focused on his face and persisted. Aymeric looked nervous, even a little meek, and Kyler gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Though one to answer it touched Aymeric’s lips it did not wholly banish his trepidation. Places on both of his arms were bandaged as well, and ugly, mottled bruises marred his ordinarily light pink skin on his legs, blue and purple and black and fading yellow. One on his thigh looked distinctly like the heel of a boot and Kyler closed his eyes against the recognition of it. He returned again to his face, tracing his features with his fingertips, running them through his soft curls.

“Kyler,” he breathed out, and leaned into it when Kyler kissed him. There was something raw and tender in it, something wounded, seeking comfort.

“What can I do?” He asked, brushing a feather-light touch along the length of Aymeric’s ears. He shivered at it, pleasantly, his blush warm under Kyler’s fingers.

Aymeric nodded, if only just. “This,” he breathed out, and kissed him again.

Kyler took him into his arms, focusing on the weight of him, on how they fit together, things he always relished, and took too his time. They wandered their way through kisses and caresses and it wasn’t long before they were lying back into plush blankets and pillows, naked and softly entangled.

Kyler ran the backs of his fingers down Aymeric’s arm and onto his hip, Aymeric keening quietly against his mouth, and Kyler brushed a delicate touch over his cock, finding it hot, already swelling. Aymeric’s eyes flickered open, their gazes colliding, and blushed deeply.

“You’re so beautiful,” Kyler murmured low into the scant space between them, a kind of pride blooming in him when the tone of his voice made Aymeric’s breath hitch. “Always,” he went on. “But I love when you blush.” He nuzzled into his neck, tracing the length of him to his head with his fingertips, and kissed the tender skin beneath his jaw. Aymeric sighed out a shuddering sound and Kyler smiled, dragging his teeth along the place and giving it a little flick of his tongue as a parting shot before he leaned away, reaching into the bedside table for the oil he knew was stored there. 

Prize in hand, he was struck sudden by an impulse. Following it, he unstoppered the little bottle, held it above Aymeric, and tilted it ever so slowly. Aymeric bit his lip, tense with the anticipation, and when at last a drop broke free and fell he started at the contact but then moaned, the sound trapped in his throat. A smile tugged at Kyler’s mouth and he poured another drop onto him, and one more, enjoying the twist of Aymeric’s mouth, the squirm that took him as the oil slowly dripped down his dick.

Setting the bottle aside, he slid his hand onto him, spreading the oil, closing his fingers around him. Aymeric gasped in a breath and half-groaned it out, eyes fluttering in pleasure. It accentuated how long his lashes were, somehow, and Kyler leaned in to kiss near the corner of his eye. The closeness felt satisfying, felt right, and as he slowly pumped and worked him he brushed kisses over his cheek, his jaw, his ear. Aymeric hissed in a breath again at the last and, wanting to chase his enjoyment, he slowly licked from his earlobe up the length; he was rewarded with a shuddering moan and not only the feel but the _sight_ of a shiver traveling the length of his body. He hummed low in his ear and tucked the tip of it between his lips.

“Ah, Kyler,” he gasped out, squirming closer to him.

Kyler relented, releasing his ear. Aymeric tilted his chin up, lips parted, a wordless plea, and Kyler kissed him, their tongues meeting, gliding over one another, the feel of it, his _taste_ thrilling. One of Aymeric’s hands stole onto Kyler’s cock, it nearly jolting at his touch, and he began stroking him, squirming closer still as he did. Kyler’s mind was all but consumed with the singular focus of giving Aymeric everything he wanted - turning slightly, he angled his hips towards his, entwining their legs, and Aymeric pressed forward, eager, and when Kyler adjusted his grip and held both of them together, stroking them both, Aymeric choked out something that swayed, precarious on the line between a moan and a cry of pleasure. A groan, low and soft, eased out of Kyler in reply.

He pleasured them both, eyes ever on Aymeric’s face when his own were open, basking in all his little expressions, his sounds, everything that showed him how deeply he craved this intimacy, how satisfying it was to him now it was his. And when he began straining forward, pushing himself into his hand further, harder, even if the stutter of his motion betrayed he was trying to restrain himself, Kyler stroked them faster, gripped a hint tighter now and again.

“Kyler, Kyler I—” he barely managed, voice tight.

Kyler leaned in so his mouth was against his ear. “ _Aymeric_ ,” he moaned, and turned just enough to see his lover’s pleasure in his face as he climaxed, it pulling Kyler to follow in his wake.

They lay together, still entwined, slowly, slowly mastering their breathing. Aymeric’s voice sounded now and again as he did, aftershocks of the moment before’s intensities. 

Kyler traveled his features with his eyes: the high bridge and straight slope of his nose, the gentle curve of his cheek, his sharp, petite chin. He wanted everything about him crystallized in his mind, preserved there forever. Something in his chest grew tight, but he made the choice to set it aside, to stay in the moment with him. 

“Aymeric, I love you,” he told him, and as his eyes opened to meet his at the sentiment it was like watching a sunrise. 

Aymeric put one of his hands on Kyler’s face, tracing the angle of his cheekbone with the motion. “I love you, Kyler,” he answered, and kissed him softly. 

He kissed him back once, twice, thrice, making him laugh, held him close, breathed in his smell, and at last relented to fetch something to clean them up with.

“Are you awake?” Aymeric asked quietly.

“Mm,” Kyler hummed out a reply. “Mostly.” His voice crackled over the word, rough from dozing. They’d rested together for a while, but night was only just coming on. 

“Are you hungry?” He laid his cheek on Kyler’s shoulder.

“Now that you say so,” he kissed the crown of his head, happy to bury his face in his curls. “Rather.”

He chuckled, a pleasant sound Kyler felt as much as heard. “I’ll make something.”

“Only if you want to,” he said, not wanting him to push himself. He clearly still needed rest. 

“Kyler, how many times must I tell you I _enjoy_ cooking, and moreso for those I care for?” he asked, eyes twinkling down at him as he sat up.

“Apparently at least once more,” he replied, having to remind himself to look away from his bandages, to focus elsewhere, cold worry slithering through his gut. It must not have shown in his face, which he was grateful for, as Aymeric leaned right back down to give him a peck on the lips before rising, reaching for a dressing down. 

“Ah,” he reacted as he finished tying his, smiling brightly. “Now is as good a time as any,” he said and, turning, held out another dressing gown, this one deep purple. The color was dark, rich but not ostentatious, and it appeared to be made of the same plush material as the one he currently wore. A hint of a blush returned to his cheeks. “For you,” he said, smiling.

“Aym,” Kyler sat up, accepting it. It was clear he’d had it made for him - it was noticeably longer than his own and perhaps a touch broader in the shoulders. “It’s gorgeous,” he admitted. He felt it was too fine for him, but made an attempt at graciousness: “Thank you.” He shrugged it on and couldn’t help but smile even wider: it was the softest thing he’d ever worn. 

“Oh, and,” Aymeric said with the suddenness of remembering, and produced a pair of house slippers. 

Kyler chuckled, unable to stop himself, and rose to kiss him, wrapping him in his arms.

“Now, what would you like?” He asked as he led Kyler into the kitchen. It was a lovely space, cozy, with herbs hanging in bundles from the ceiling. It wasn’t the first time that Kyler had thought Aymeric looked most at home there, comfortable, rolling up his sleeves. 

“You know me, I’m not picky,” he smiled. Any home cooked meal was welcome in his book. 

Aymeric’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I believe we’ve some pork, tenderloin with blanched greens and scalloped popotoes?” He ticked the items off on his fingers as he spoke.

“Aymeric,” Kyler protested, grinning in spite of it and getting his arms around him. “Something simple. Less cooking, more cuddling.”

Aymeric’s expression softened. “Very well,” he set his hands on either side of his face and turned it down toward himself so he could kiss the end of his nose. Kyler laughed and let him out of his arms. 

He took himself to the other side of the counter island and to the stool he knew was tucked away there, happy to perch on it and watch Aymeric work. He was fetching a pan, bread, butter, eggs, his hair mussed from the pillows and being played with, a kind of attentive happiness in his looks. That same tightness gripped Kyler’s chest, a hand closing around his heart. Haurchefant should have been able to see this sight, Aymeric with his eyes soft and unguarded, working away doing something he truly enjoyed, observed only by those he wished. Happy. Kyler’s throat cinched tight. He could picture him there with them so clearly, fetching ingredients or making a nuisance of himself or raiding the pantry for hot chocolate materials. Kyler breathed deep, held it, and let it out slow, this indignation, this sharp grief.

The smell of butter and the sizzle of the pan slowly prized his mind away, luring it back to the present. 

“I don’t suppose you’d allow me to help,” Kyler said.

“You may get me two plates,” Aymeric smiled over his shoulder at him. Only then did Kyler realize that he was whisking something while whatever was on the stove cooked. Kyler smiled and did as he’d been asked.

“Aymeric,” he began, thoughtful, as he set them on the counter near at hand. 

“Hmm?” He hummed back, still busy with the food.

“Earlier, it seemed almost as though there was more you would say, when we talked about Estinien,” he said.

For a moment, Aymeric stilled. The butter in the pan popped.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wish to,” Kyler said, dropped a kiss to his shoulder, and made room for him again.

“No, it isn’t that,” he replied, slowly resuming. “In a moment, I’m almost finished.” He turned to give him a smile, though something in it seemed a bit tired, less vibrant than a moment before. Part of Kyler wished he hadn’t said anything.

If the question had dampened Aymeric’s mood it revived when he served their meal: fried eggs sat in the middle of fat slices of toast that had circles of their centers removed, lightly seasoned, with little crocks of hollandaise sauce on the side. The center pieces of the bread had been toasted as well, kept in reserve, and with it all links of sausage.

“This smells amazing,” Kyler admitted, mouth watering at the sight.

“Hopefully they will taste as good as they smell,” Aymeric replied, though his smile made his eyes shine. “The moment of truth,” he said softly as Kyler went to cut into one of his eggs, and seemed satisfied when the yolk was still runny.

“This is delicious,” Kyler said and thoroughly meant it, using one of his toast circles to forestall the spread of one of the yolks.

“Good,” Aymeric replied. “It has a playful name, if I remember right,” his brow furrowed in thought. “Egg-in-a-basket?” 

Kyler chuckled. “Appropriate.”

After a thoughtful pause - and Aymeric getting to his feet to remove the whistling kettle from the flame before Kyler could beat him to it - he began, “Estinien very much wants to accompany you.” As he filled a teapot, his motions measured, the smell of herbs wafted up. “Your success in the Aery,” he hesitated, fussing with the teapot, taking his seat again. “It moved him, more than he told you.”

“You’re still very close,” Kyler said, knowing it was true.

Aymeric’s eyes flew to him, something in his expression seeming nervous. He returned to the last of his meal, it plain in his face that his mind was working. “After a fashion,” he answered at last. 

Kyler could see the conflict just beneath the surface of him, and it was one he knew all too well: arguing whether to open up, and how much, and how to do it. Seeing that he was finished eating, he got to his feet and took the dishes, kissing him on the temple in passing. He would have insisted on cleaning up as it was and if it gave Aymeric time to think, so much the better.

“Would you like some tea, my dear?” Aymeric asked as he worked on the washing. 

“Yes, please.” Moments later a teacup and saucer appeared on the counter beside him, but before he could say a word of thanks Aymeric’s arms were around his waist, his face against his back.

“Is it wicked of me,” he began, the strain of asking plain in his voice despite it being somewhat muffled by the dressing gown. “That I yet yearn for him?”

Kyler stilled. In the silence, Aymeric’s arms tightened around him, if only just. “No,” he replied, setting aside the last plate and shifting, resting his hands on the counter. “I don’t think so.” The silence stretched, as though Aymeric was uncertain.

“I cherish you,” he said abruptly. 

“Aym,” Kyler dried his hands, put one over his, and began to turn in his arms. 

“Deeply,” he said, and as their eyes connected the seriousness in his stilled Kyler.

“And I you,” he finished turning and hugged him back, stroking his hair when his face came to rest against his chest. “You,” his voice faltered. He was going to say that he would never say that Kyler appreciated him any less for loving Haurchefant, but he couldn’t get the words out. The grief was still too near. “You would never tell me that I was wicked for wishing things had been different with Thancred,” he said instead. This grief, at least, had enough time to callous by now.

“No, of course not,” Aymeric looked up at him, seemed as though he was going to say the very notion was preposterous, but before he could he relented into a slight pout, making the connection.

“And I would never dream of telling you there was anything wrong with what you feel for Estinien,” Kyler told him. “No matter how complicated, or not, it may be.”

Aymeric sighed, tension leaving him, and it made him seem smaller than he really was in Kyler’s arms. It brought with it, unnecessary though it was, an overwhelming urge to protect him. He kissed his forehead, his temple, the top of his head, and rested his cheek against that same place, holding him close. Aymeric surfaced, looking up into his face, and kissed him softly.

After they parted he stayed looking at Kyler, as though studying him. “Please,” he began, conflicting expressions chasing through his features and resolving into simple tiredness. “As much as he lets you, look after him?”

“I promise,” he said. Kissing him one more time, Kyler steered him away from the kitchen as gently as he could, determined to make good on his aforementioned ‘more snuggling’ and silently committing to pampering Aymeric until he slept.

When morning came, Kyler woke slowly and was rewarded with a rare sight: Aymeric, looking blissful and carefree, still sleeping. The hazy light of early day drifted over his beautiful features, his hair a dark halo on his cushion. Kyler caught himself once more tracing his features over and over with his eyes, committing them to memory. With a pang he realized he had done that far more often since the Vault and cursed himself for it. He wasn’t going to lose him. Nor was he going to perish in Azys Lla. Even if he had to crawl back battered and bleeding, he wouldn’t let this be the end.

There was a soft tap at the window. Kyler tensed, but when he looked a metallic flash of familiar red vanished from the frame. Estinien. Aymeric still slept, unperturbed. Kyler brushed the ghost of a kiss onto his forehead and rose carefully. He wouldn’t leave him sleeping - that would be too much of an unkindness - but he could at least bring him tea in bed.

“I’m to the Airship landing,” Kyler said. They were dressed and, hopefully, as ready as they would be for whatever that day had in store for them. 

“Yes,” Aymeric replied, adjusting his gloves. “And I to the Convocation.” He paused, still for a moment. “Please do tell me when you’re departing?”

“Of course,” Kyler said. Aymeric reached for his collar, tweaking it he suspected more to touch him than to fix it, and he pulled toward himself lightly. Kyler complied, leaning in for a kiss.

“Thank you,” Aymeric smiled, but it didn’t banish the touch of worry in his eyes. 

“I love you Aym,” Kyler said.

“And I you, Kyler.”

The bite of the cold was so intense it seared Kyler’s lungs as he breathed in at first, a fresh layer of snow crunching under his boots as he crossed the city to the docks. Drawing near, he was surprised to find Estinien, looking back over his shoulder as though he was waiting for him.

“Estinien,” he nodded. Half-formed queries and remarks about that morning floated in and out of his mind, but he elected not to say anything. “Did Lucia tell you about the Converger?”

“She told me about the boy’s idea to use the Eye,” he answered, his voice especially rough, perhaps from lack of use.

“And what did you think?”

He tilted his head just slightly, the shift more than enough to communicate the cut of his attention. “That I am going with you, Kyler Drake, regardless of the Eye,” he growled.

Something in the way he spoke shot a chill down Kyler’s spine. “And I am grateful for your company,” he replied, mentally floundering at the intensity of the moment without knowing why. 

Estinien’s posture shifted, relaxing somewhat. “Good,” he said, and pivoted to continue on.

Confused, Kyler followed. Had he thought Kyler would deny him?

The landing was bustling with Ironworks employees and even folk that Kyler thought he recognized from Skysteel Manufactory. In the midst of it all was Cid, Matoya’s tome open in one hand, poring over a chart Biggs held out for the both of them. On Cid’s other side stood Alphinaud. 

“Well, Cid, what do you have for us?” Kyler asked, having to raise his voice a touch to be heard over the general commotion.

“There he is,” Cid said, grinning at him and snapping Matoya’s book shut. “Marvelous stuff,” he raised it and waggled it back and forth in his hand. “And we’re making good progress.”

“How soon are you thinking we’d be ready to fly?” he asked.

“With enough time for testing, I’d say right before sunset.” 

“I take it you lot pulled yet another all nighter?” Kyler couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“Naturally,” Biggs beamed.

“--LIKE A BLEEDING CART CHOCOBO” came from somewhere onboard the _Enterprise_ , which looked practically like a different ship for all the repairs that had been done. Biggs threw his head back and laughed.

“As long as you’re flying fit,” Kyler said. The last thing he wanted was any more of his companions getting hurt or worse.

Cid nodded, a conciliatory gesture. “We will be.”

“And what do you think of the proposal to use the Eye, Master Garlond?” Estinien asked.

“What do I think of it?” Cid repeated. “Well _Ser_ Estinien, so long as you are able to summon up its Aether and channel it into our ram it’ll work like a charm. So what do _you_ think of it?”

“I think the power of the Eye is not to be drawn upon lightly,” he said, a quiet kind of force behind his words. When he went on it was gentler, less intense, “But I do believe there is sufficient cause in this. If you are confident, then you have your Aether.”

“You heard the man!” Cid turned to bark out to his crew. “We’ve all the ingredients, let’s get this thing knocked together and tested!”

Amidst the ensuing hubbub, Kyler found himself watching Estinien, a fixed point in a storm of motion and noise. He was still, and not for the first time Kyler wondered what he was thinking beneath the facade of his armor and helm.

“Estinien,” he said, to draw his attention. That he succeeded was betrayed only by the slightest turn of that helm. “Thank you, my friend.”

After a pause, that helm nodded. And then, with a touch of a smile in his voice, he said, “Azure wings to bear us: I must admit, there is poetry to it.”

“Yes,” he agreed, smiling back. Just as Kyler was considering whether to make himself useful or scarce, Alphinaud appeared at his side.

“Were you able to get some rest?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kyler nodded. “I hope you were, as well,” he said, though the shadows under his eyes told a different story.

“Some, yes,” he answered. “They insisted.”

“ _Good_ ,” Kyler said, making a mental note to thank Cid when there was a moment and Alphinaud wasn’t in earshot. 

“I would be on hand to continue helping Cid interpret Master Matoya’s work,” he said. “Would you mind terribly telling our friends who will remain that we hope to depart this evening? I feel we owe them that much at least.”

“You’re right,” Kyler said, though it put a stint in his chest, the thought of all those farewells. It shouldn’t have been different than any other time, but it was; irrevocably, it was. “I will,” he managed, his voice just a touch rougher than usual.

“Thank you,” Alphianud said, smiling up at him encouragingly before moving away, back into the throng of activity.

Kyler pulled in a deep breath that stretched and warped that pain in his chest, held it for a moment, and let it out slow, steeling himself.

For the second time, the knight at Aymeric’s door did not need to be asked to admit him. Kyler wondered if that spoke to Aymeric’s worry or whether the Temple Knights in general simply had come to expect him to interrupt their Lord Commander. Regardless, he had other things to worry about. 

Kyler had Aymeric’s attention as soon as he entered. “I take it you have news for me then?” He set aside his quill.

“Cid thinks we’ll be ready to fly by sunset,” he answered.

Aymeric closed his eyes and left them shut for a long moment, as he sometimes did when he was thinking. “I would go with you,” he began softly, his eyes drifting back open and meeting Kyler’s. “But I fear that...in my current condition I would only be a hindrance to you.”

Kyler gritted his teeth against the rising tide of responses in his mind—that he should come if he could not bear staying, that he should stay and heal, that Ishgard needed him, that _he_ needed him, that—and waited.

“By allying himself with Ascians and courting primals, my father has shown himself to be an enemy of what is good and right in the world,” he said. Though his voice was quiet, something in his expression was hard: this sentiment was born of a crucible of consideration, doubt, worry, and, most of all, time. “Do what you must to put a stop to his madness.”

Kyler nodded gravely. “I will.”

Aymeric’s expression softened. “I know you will, my love,” and he reached for him, faint ripples of guilt and compassion and pity in his looks. Kyler joined him, that smallest gesture as strong to him as a summons, and bent to kiss him. 

“I shall see you off at sunset,” Aymeric said. “This is for then.” Twining his fingers through the short hair on the back of Kyler’s head, he kissed him again.

Next was Lucia, standing with Handeloup in the central room of the Congregation.

“The hour is nigh, then,” she said, ascertaining correctly his emergence from the office at a glance.

“Yes,” he said, giving her a touch of a crooked smile. He’d considered saying something about how she was sharp as a knife, as always, but didn’t have it in him, nor did he know whether the humor he’d seen hints of in her before would emerge in so public a place. “By tonight.”

“Go well, my friend,” she said, the subtlest change in her expression, in the angle of her brow, the set of her eyes, betraying true care. “May the Fury bless and keep you.”

The sentiment surprised him at first, but then it only widened his smile. “Thank you, Lucia.” He extended a hand to her and she shook it with a hint of a smile of her own.

“Ser Handeloup,” he nodded to the second in command of the Temple Knights.

“Godsspeed, Master Drake,” he said, returning the gesture.

His feet carried him next one door down, into the Forgotten Knight, where Tataru was certainly helping and plying the regulars for the latest news and gossip. As he descended the stairs he was gripped suddenly with a wave of dread. Something in bidding Tataru farewell this time made him think of all the times he’d bade Minfilia the same. All the times he’d left and, naively, counted on her being there still when he returned. 

_“Go, Kyler! Keep the light of hope alive!”_

Her voice rang out through his mind once more, the look she gave him over her shoulder as she sprinted away from him. 

He came back to the Forgotten Knight and it was a lively morning, patrons in for coffee or tea and the smells of late breakfast foods still permeating the air. And amidst it all was Tataru, a tray tucked under one arm, talking animatedly with a young noblewoman. At the sight of him she stilled. Was that a flash of worry to match his, or only recognition? It was gone too quickly to tell, she excusing herself, all smiles, and crossing over to him.

“Good morning, Kyler,” she beamed up at him. This time, without a doubt, he could see the trepidation just beneath the surface of her, simmering.

“Hello Tataru. It’s time,” he said, as softly as the pub atmosphere would allow for.

Her eyes widened, mouth opening, but the look of surprise was quickly replaced by determination. “Come with me,” she said, took hold of the hem of his coat, and marched off. He complied, his steps stuttering to match pace with her stride. Only when they were in a back room did she release him.

“So,” she began, huffing the word out and putting her hands on her hips. “You're off to face the archbishop, then.”

“Yes,” Kyler said. “This evening.”

She looked away from him, what he could see of her expression wavering. “Please be careful,” she burst out suddenly, her hands clenched near her heart. “And...watch over the others, will you? We've lost too many friends as it is. Some may yet return to us, but I couldn't bear to lose anyone else. I just couldn't.”

Hearing her say it, the pleading in her eyes, made something in Kyler’s chest fracture. He couldn’t bear the thought either, but hearing it from Tataru was raw, real, and terrible.

It must have shown in his face because she went on, “I realize it's asking a lot, but you're the strongest person I know, and I don't think there's anything you can't achieve if you put your mind to it. So please, whatever else happens, keep everyone safe!”

Kyler knelt to be level with her. “I will. For both of us,” he told her.

“Oooh,” she fidgeted in place, as though she couldn’t contain what she was feeling. “Thank you, Kyler,” she said, and reached up to hug him. He wrapped an arm around her and hugged her back.

“Take care,” he said. “We’ll be back.”

“Yes,” she smiled up at him and nodded, her eyes shining.

His feet carried him to the Brume and Hilda the Mongrel.

“Look who it is,” she grinned her cocksure grin at him, one foot rested casually on a large piece of fallen rubble. 

“Hilda,” he nodded to her, and then to her right- and left-hand men. “Symme, Eudestand.”

“You off to face that rat bastard, then?” She asked, crossing her arms. 

“Aye, by the evening, it seems to be.”

“What I wouldn’t give to go with you, ‘specially if it meant giving a certain snake a good wallopin’,” she said with a curl of her lip, clearly meaning Charibert. “But I need to stay and be sure folks don’t get any stupid ideas now the archbishop’s gone. I’ll work with Ser Aymeric n’ make sure folks remember blood won’t get us what we want.”

“Thank you, Hilda,” Kyler gave her a smile. She was one of the most capable people he’d ever met - he knew she’d keep the city well.

“Aye. You focus on settlin’ the score,” she said, her red eyes flashing at him. “And get in a few good hits for me, will ya?” She tapped his arm with her fist.

“You can be sure of it,” he couldn’t help but be grateful for her casual brashness. It was refreshing.

“Aye, we’ll keep the city in one piece, just you wait and see,” Symme grinned at him, thumbing his nose.

“My thanks,” he said, and waved to them over his shoulder as he took the stairs out of the Brume. The last stop was going to be the hardest. He headed for the Last Vigil.

_“Here we are!” Haurchefant announced, waving one arm to indicate a beautiful mansion, its facade of white stone well at home amongst the imposing towers and spires of Ishgard. Mounted on either side of the door were banners bearing the now-familiar Fortemps crest, of the red unicorn on a black field. “I welcome you to Fortemps Manor, my family home,” he turned to them, grinning, his cheeks, ears, and nose rosy from the cold walk._

_“Marvelous,” Tataru said, her eyes wide from taking in her surroundings._

_“Indeed,” Alphinaud agreed, and Kyler was truly uncertain whether he meant it or spoke to humor their host._

_Kyler remained silent, smiling at his beloved._

_“How long I have waited for this day, to see the Scions of the Seventh Dawn walking Ishgard’s streets at last!” He heaved a satisfied sigh, his enthusiasm and good cheer catching. “I should like nothing better than to show you around the city, but come, the household awaits and there are introductions to be made!” Haure shepherded them inside with a gesture, the Fortemps knight near the stairs nodding to them as they passed, undoubtedly taking note of their appearances._

_They hurried through the entry hall and into a lavish sitting room, burgundy and pale gold walls offset by gleaming white and soft grey stonework and immaculate marble floor tiles. Kyler had to clamp his mouth firmly shut to keep it from falling fully open. After all, he had an impression to make._

_*_

_In the end, Haurchefant had insisted he be the one to give the three of them their tour of the city, though one of the Fortemps staff protested he was ready and able. Kyler, for his part, was grateful, if only because it afforded him the opportunity to see the city through Haure’s eyes: from the Hoplon and the Vault to the Jeweled Crozier Markets, Skysteel and the Holy Stables, every locale had a quip or a story, though in his enthusiasm for the last Haurchefant caught himself waxing overlong and hurried to compensate, moving them along. Even when they were accosted by an (inebriated?) member of the so-called Brume his spirits stayed high, unperturbed by the show of hyper-masculine bravado. He introduced them to Gibrillont, proprietor of the Forgotten Knight, and ordered them a round of light mead while he was at it._

_By the end of their tour, and of the dinner that awaited them back at the Fortemps Manor, Kyler felt oddly at ease: far more so than he would have otherwise._

_“My friend,” Haurchefant said, lingering at his elbow where he was still seated at the table. When Kyler looked up into his face he was smiling down at him, eyes alive with happiness. “I would show you the courtyard, if I may.”_

_“Of course,” he smiled back at him, rising and following where he led. Haure pointed out different doors as they passed them--sitting rooms, studies, a library, a music room--until they returned to the main hall they’d been received in and went further still, through a set of ornate double doors Kyler hadn’t noticed before._

_The courtyard beyond took his breath away. Two rearing unicorn statues stood proudly, larger than life but undeniably life_ like _, carved stone benches sat beneath the eaves to keep them relatively dry, and at the center stood a beautiful gazebo, its columns adorned with flourishes that could have been wisps of cloud were they not too of the same white stone. The layer of snow that clung to all made it seem like a scene from out of a faery tale, and here and there ice glistened in the moonlight._

_He exhaled the breath that had caught in his chest. Haurchefant chuckled lightly, and when Kyler’s eyes found him again he was paused on the stairs of the gazebo, one foot a step above the other, looking back at him with a smile on his face._

_“Come, my friend,” he said softly, his hand outstretched as though waiting to take his. Innocuous though the phrase was, his voice told of deep affection._

_Kyler ducked his head to hide a smile, stepping up before him, careful to only take his hand when his own body blocked any view there might be from the house. After all, he didn’t know how much or how little the rest of the Fortemps family knew. Haurchefant squeezed his fingers._

_“This has always been one of my favorite parts of the estate,” he admitted softly, drawing him to the center of the gazebo._

_“I can see why,” he smiled at him, this time making no move to obscure it. “It’s gorgeous.” He admired again the statues, the fine stonework._

_“After it was clear the cold was not like to abate, it became fashionable to opt for sculpture-gardens, as it were,” he said. “Though some Houses simply changed their choices of flora. My personal favorite,” he perked up in excitement, blue eyes shining with it, seeming grey-tinged in the low evening light. “Is House Hallienarte. Rather than go either of those routes, they erected a greenhouse ‘round the entirety of their courtyard, to preserve the roses their family has grown for generations. It’s unspeakably beautiful, one of my favorite places in the city, nay, in the whole of the world. Walking in is like entering a rose-scented dream, and they bloom more often than wild roses thanks, in part, to the warmth.” He met Kyler’s eyes and blushed. “Forgive me, I do believe I have gotten carried away often today.”_

_A silent laugh pulled Kyler into his own shoulders. “Haure,” he said, a chuckle only then sounding. “I_ like _hearing you talk. I like your enthusiasm.”_

_Haurchefant looked up into his eyes like he was the only man in the entire world. He squeezed his hand. “I love you, Kyler,” he told him softly._

_“And I you,” he replied._

_Haure leaned in, his eyes beginning to drift closed, lips parted._

_Kyler tensed, and that alone was enough to still him. “Should, I mean,” he felt himself flushing, nervousness curling through his stomach. “Are you worried, about being seen?”_

_Haurchefant’s smile grew, gained a defiant edge. “Let them see,” he said, and closed the distance, kissing him on the lips._

_A sigh rushed out of Kyler, relief crashing over him as worry he didn’t know had been building was washed away. Only in that moment did he realize how badly he had wanted to kiss him, to hold him, and he wrapped him in his arms and held him tight, making him stutter a step closer to him, nearly pulling him off-balance as he deepened the kiss. He took his sweet time and barely withdrew as it ended, his eyes slow to open. Haure huffed out a breath that could have been a laugh but for how small it was, to fit in the scant space between them._

_“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” Kyler told him._

_“So have I,” the words rushed out and still they were almost lost as he leaned in to kiss him again. For a moment they were in their own world, full of the cold of the night air, the quiet, everything muffled by snow, the light of the moon sailing in a sea of clouds, and the warmth between their bodies. And both were happy to get lost in it._

Kyler’s feet grew heavier with every step he took toward Fortemps Manor, yet carry him to it they did. The knight posted at the steps acknowledged him with a quiet, “Master Drake,” and moved to let him in unprompted.

Though the manor was warm, a chill moved through him as he crossed the entryway. He tried, only half-successfully, to put it out of his mind.

“Where is Count Edmont?” he asked one of the staff.

“In his study, milord,” she answered, dropping a quick curtsy.

“Thank you,” he said, and moved down the hall. 

Edmont was precisely where he expected him to be, sitting at his desk - a huge, curved piece with lavish woodwork - scratching away with a soft grey feather pen. 

“Count Edmont,” Kyler said softly to get his attention, so softly that parts of the words were lost.

Edmont’s gaze flickered up to him and his customary frown cleared for a moment. “Kyler, you’re back,” he said, but quickly mastered his surprise. “I am glad to see you well.”

“Well enough,” he answered, lingering near the door. Somehow, he felt out of place in this room, as though it was not for him to stand there, to intrude upon him. Not after everything. How could he be anything other than the man who’d called Edmont’s son away to die, whose very presence had precipitated such hideous loss? The specter of death, dressed in black, manifested there in his home?

“Come in, my boy,” Edmont said, a hint of a sigh in his voice. “And tell me your news.”

Kyler’s throat burned, and though it felt a titanic effort was necessary to take that first step, somehow, he did.

Edmont had listened to his tale with his typical attentiveness, even shuffling his papers about and jotting down a note or two, but otherwise leaning on his forearms with his fingers laced. Kyler noticed he wasn’t wearing gloves, that ink stained his fingers here and there.

“And Cid Garlond is working on building and testing the Aetheric Ram, from Master Matoya’s work on convergers, as we speak. He says we’ll fly this evening.”

Edmont sat back with a sigh, studying him. “So the hour is nigh at last,” he said softly. There was some emotion in his face, raw but inscrutable, as his eyes traveled Kyler’s features. If Kyler were not worn out from the telling and all the goodbyes that had come before this one, it would have made him anxious. As it was, only the barest twinge of nervousness sat in his gut. As though deciding something, or remembering, Edmont tilted his head to one side. “He would not have told you this,” he began slowly, voice soft. “But when my son urged me to take you and the Scions in, he described you as ‘hope incarnate’.” A smile, bittersweet and wan, pulled at his lips. It, and those words, lanced Kyler through. “At the time, I thought he was waxing lyrical, as was his wont. But I see now that was not the case. It seems like mere days ago you arrived, strangers to this city, and now you go forth bearing all our best hopes. Haurchefant was right,” his smile grew but his eyes shone. “You _are_ hope, Kyler. And yet too, you are a man. One beloved of my son, and after being allowed the gift of your acquaintance, I know full well why he loved you.”

Kyler choked and clenched his jaw, trying to keep the storm of his emotions at bay. It had risen sudden in him, a surge at Edmont’s words, but more than that, his sincerity. In that moment, he saw where Haurchefant had gotten it from.

Edmont sniffed and blinked a few times, rapidly, as though coming back to himself. “I’ve a token for you, if you’ll bear it,” he said, and rose from his chair.

Kyler blinked hard, grateful for the opportunity to try to compose himself, as the Count crossed the room to an object under a black cloth. He pulled it away, exposing a shield. Not just any shield, _his_ shield, blasted open, the metal twisted and hideous where that spear of light had passed through. Kyler could not stop a sound of dismay and grief from writhing out of him.

“It is a terrible thing to ask of you, I know,” Edmont said, carrying it to him. Kyler clamped a hand over his own mouth, tears spilling from him. It felt like the muscles of his abdomen had a stranglehold on his lungs just to keep him silent. “And yet I must. Haurchefant would wish to go with you, in the battle to come, were he here. Please,” he said, his voice, too, fracturing at last.

Kyler wrestled himself to standing, ripping his eyes from the shield and its terrible scar, searching Edmont’s face. In his own way, he was sending his son with him yet again, after everything. Trusting him still. Knowing he couldn’t depend on his own voice in that moment, he nodded mutely and, hands shaking, lifted it. It was heavy, heavier than he remembered, a hideous weight. Like another he had borne before.

“Thank you, Kyler,” Edmont said, putting a hand on his shoulder. After a moment he squeezed it, tears at last breaking. “Take it with you, my boy, and return to us!”

It was too much. Kyler hung his head, weeping, the force of his grief and gratitude shuddering his whole body, and Edmont shifted the shield in his hands so that he could embrace him. 

Only after he’d had a moment to compose himself and croak out a ‘thank you’ did Kyler leave the study. The shield was wrapped in its black cloth, to spare any others the sight of it, and though it still felt heavy, it was less so, less awful than standing in the study receiving it. As he walked down the hall, Emmanellain emerged, Honoroit, as ever, at his elbow.

“I thought I heard you, Kyler old boy,” he said, and smiled a lopsided smile at him, one that looked out of place on his face. “You’re headed out again, aren’t you?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes,” he croaked, voice wrecked from crying. He was terribly aware in that moment of what a mess he must look: even if it was less obvious due to his dark skin, he must be dark _er_ around the eyes and his nose, plain to see that he’d been weeping again. 

“Be safe out there,” Emmanellain said, uncharacteristic seriousness making him look older. He, too, clasped Kyler’s shoulder. 

“I will,” he said, nodding. It struck him that all these oaths, all these promises - it was possible that he would break them. Just as Haure had, never intending to. He let the thought come and go again, too tired to pay it any real heed.

“Good,” he said, and wore a smile that looked much more like himself. He turned to go.

Honoroit lingered, saying, “The Fury keep you, Master Drake,” before ducking into a quick bow and hurrying after his master.

Kyler moved toward the front of the manor and was shocked into stillness when the whole of the staff and Artoirel were there, waiting. His mouth fell open, but he didn’t know what to say.

Artoirel was frowning, serious, shadows around his eyes. He paused, but when Kyler didn’t move, he slowly crossed to him instead. “You’re leaving,” he said. 

“Yes,” Kyler responded, dumbstruck. “Tonight.”

Artoirel nodded, his focus never leaving Kyler’s face. “I will pray for your safe return,” he told him. Surprising him, he embraced him. Kyler blinked and belatedly put one hand on his back. Artoirel hadn’t even liked Kyler at first and had certainly never been an affectionate man: this display was the last thing he’d expected. But as he pulled away, his hands yet on Kyler’s shoulders, he spoke softly, his eyes ablaze and fierce, “ _Give them Hell_.”

Kyler put his free hand on Artoirel’s shoulder and nodded, solemn. As they parted and he walked for the door, the quiet prayers and well-wishes of the household a susurrus in his wake, he felt bolstered. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t weighted down by the hopes he bore, he was lifted by them.

The sun was setting in a blaze, staining the sky the colors of fire. It brought him back to the Vault again, but for another first, he felt steadied by it. Finally, finally the hour was drawing closer, when he could stop Thordan, when he could avenge the man who had loved him, made his life worth living in his darkest time. Haurchefant’s ruined shield hung on his back, a grounding weight.

“Aye, that’s done it!” Cid’s voice rose over the general clamor of the docks. He crossed to him, stopping at his elbow. “Kyler,” he said, his voice more measured than a moment before. “It’s time.”

Kyler turned from where he had been watching the sunset and saw Cid waiting, eagerness alight in his eyes. He looked beyond him to Alphinaud, drawn up to his full height; Y’shtola, holding the white auracite Urianger had appeared to deliver, and he standing beside her; Estinien, spear on his back, squared up and ready; the workers of Skysteel and the Ironworks besides; all watching him. Waiting. 

He looked again to Cid. “Let’s fly,” he said, and though he didn’t raise his voice he didn’t need to, it carrying on the still air. Cid grinned at him, turning and hustling on board, taking his place at the helm.

“All aboard!” cried Wedge, his powerful voice, as ever, in contrast to his size.

He made his way to the gangplank, and as he boarded he looked back over his shoulder in time to see those he’d bid farewell to and others besides gathering: Aymeric and Lucia, Edmont, Tataru, Hilda and Symme, and familiar faces from Ishgard who he wasn’t certain he could name.

“May the Fury grant you strength,” Edmont called to them.

“Safe journey!” Tataru cupped her hands around her mouth to cry.

Across the distance, Aymeric and Kyler locked eyes. “Return to us,” he bade him. “All of you.”

Kyler nodded, those words sure as a weight, close to his heart.

Biggs and Wedge barked out reports on systems and statuses. The gangplank was pulled in and the lines withdrawn. Kyler held to the railing, a fire blazing in him. It was time.

_“Enterprise Excelsior, engage!” Shouted Cid, and they were away._


	4. Azys Lla, At Last

Kyler braced himself as they drew near: now all their striving would be put to the proof. 

“It’s time,” Cid called so all could hear, and Estinien stepped to the bow.

He drew forth the Eye, holding it for a moment, his form silhouetted against the eerie luminance of the floating Allagan city beyond. “Eye of mine enemy,” he growled out. “Render unto me thy power!” The Eye seethed, a hideous miasma of Aether swirling about it. Estinien buckled, his other hand seizing his own arm to support it in some unseen struggle, and only then did Kyler fully understand what they had asked of him: to channel that Aether, Nidhogg’s essence, through himself. Doubt and dismay crashed into his mind. But then Estinien stood tall and proud, that Aether erupting from his chest, the beam of it aimed into the ram. 

The Aether swirled and forged itself into a point not unlike the head of a great lance, a fierce and bright magenta blade. Cid cried out, his arms shaking with the effort of fighting the helm to stay the course, and at last, with a lurch, the barrier gave. They were through.

Kyler was on the verge of allowing himself a sigh of relief when a rumble made him catch and hold that breath instead.

“Chief!” shouted Biggs. “An Imperial warship, and a bloody huge one at that!”

“Hold onto something!” roared Cid, banking hard just as the destroyer behind them opened fire.

Kyler held fast to the railing, watching with cold fear sitting hard, a stone in his gut, as the monstrous ship emerged. It was huge beyond understanding, beyond belief, and golden bolts shot toward them, volley after volley from unseen legions of gunports. Cid slalomed and swerved the _Excelsior_ as much as he could through the fire, but even so a shot struck home, one of the envelopes erupting in a plume of flame, shaking the whole deck.

“She can’t take much more of this!” shouted Biggs over the sound of Wedge whimpering and praying.

Cid swore.

A roar shook the heavens to their very foundation. A huge streak of white passed between the _Excelsior_ and her pursuers, rocking the deck with its passage.

“What the bloody hell was that?” barked Cid.

Kyler squinted through the gathering night. “My Gods, it’s Hraesvelgr!” he answered, pointing. Alphinaud was at his elbow on the instant, Estinien close behind him, on his other side.

“I don’t underst--” Alphinaud began, but his sentiment died before he could finish it. Because there, falling, with two Dravanians circling around it as guards, was a figure.

“No,” said Estinien, low enough that only Kyler could hear.

And in the air betwixt the _Excelsior_ and certain destruction, Ysayle summoned Saint Shiva for the final time.

“She can’t mean to take down a whole destroyer,” Alphinaud said, voice tight with dismay.

“No,” Estinien answered, slow, as it dawned on them all. “She doesn’t mean to.”

“No,” Alphinaud said, shaking his head, unable to accept it.

“She’s going to fall,” Kyler said, the words heavy in his mouth, cotton-dry.

As they looked on, helpless, Ysayle in Shiva’s shape formed a spearhead of her own, huge, and crashed it into the bow of the Imperial ship. And then, slowly, inexorably, she fell.

“ _NO!_ ” Alphinaud screamed.

“Farewell, my Lady,” Estinien said into the ensuing quiet, voice hollow.

Within Kyler, a fuse lit. He slammed his fists into the railing.

Kyler crouched with his companions, peering around the corner and looking over what was rapidly becoming a Garlean encampment. The huge airship - smoking hull and all - had managed to limp here to the so-called Gamma Quadrant to set down and the area was swarming with legionnaires. 

Alphinaud was saying something in hushed tones, but Kyler wasn’t listening. A familiar, molten rage was building in him, fit to burst. These were Ysayle’s killers. Conquerers and colonizers, and they should be put to the sword, every last one of them. _He_ would put them to the sword. He moved forward only to lurch to an abrupt halt, Estinien’s fist closed around his gorget.

“Like hells,” he growled at him, and the snarl of his mouth, barely visible around his helm, the white flash of his gritted teeth, somehow brought Kyler crashing back to the present. It would be suicide to go down there.

Kyler relaxed, sitting back on his one heel. Estinien didn’t let go of him.

“Kyler?” Alphinaud asked, something uncertain, perhaps even unnerved, in his voice.

“What were you saying, Alphinaud?” he replied, but his voice sounded strange to his own ears. He could feel Estinien watching him like a hawk, even after he released him.

The Guidance Node let out a series of blips followed by a grating “WARNING: INTRUDERS APPROACHING”

“Marvelous,” said Estinien, even that single word dripping with sarcasm.

Over the rise, a Legatus strode. His helm burned with orange light, designed as though it had a huge single eye, the horns that sprouted from its top meeting at the center in a loop almost like a halo. If this man fancied himself an angel, Kyler was going to personally see to his fall.

He had some bombastic statement he made, some challenge overwrought with bravado, but Kyler could hardly hear it. His own heart and breathing roared in his ears and he charged, throwing himself into the fight in a way he’d never felt before. Like something in him was splintering, ready to break.

Estinien was content to allow the Warrior of Light to clash with the Legatus uninterrupted, but the arrival of his pawns was another matter.

“Now this simply won’t do,” he said, plucking Gae Bolg from his back and entering the fray. But in its midst he witnessed Kyler, who he’d seen fight now times uncounted, change into something else. The way he bore himself was somehow...different, off. Luckily the legionnaires provided poor enough resistance to allow him to continue watching Kyler now and again. He was pressing the Legatus hard and it was impressive, to be certain, but there was yet something that sat unwell with him.

And when the Legatus withdrew and the footsoldiers closed rank to cover his escape - the coward - he watched Kyler snarl out a sound fit for a beast and in a flash of motion a knife entered and left his hand. It sailed, and even before it connected Estinien knew it would strike true. It buried itself into the Legatus’ back, embedded between plates of his armor. He fell, vanishing beyond the rise he’d first come over.

“Go, Kyler,” Alphinaud said, holding his own though he was breathing hard. Estinien wondered if he had noticed the change in him or not. “We will hold them here.”

“Like hells you will,” Kyler spat out. Estinien had never heard him speak to Alphinaud that way, and it chilled him. Kyler threw himself at the remaining soldiers with what Estinien would have called recklessness, but every one of them fell before him. Half-memories of tales of warriors drunk on blood rage, animal-men who lost themselves on the field, surfaced. There was no time to entertain these notions. He fought on.

The last of them finally fell and Kyler stood, breathing ragged, still clutching the hilt of his sword though it was buried in the body of a soldier, his ears ringing. The blinding rage that had overtaken him was receding, but the fire of it still scorched his limbs, his throat. He was shaking, but it wasn’t from overexertion. 

“What was that?” Y’shtola asked, her disapproval obvious from her tone alone.

When Kyler looked over to her she was scowling fiercely at him, tail twitching angrily.

“If we tell you to press on in service to our mission, we expect you to oblige us,” she said.

“Well I won’t,” he said, putting his foot on the corpse at his feet so that he could wrench his sword free. “So don’t ask me again.”

“We aren’t green adventurers in need of a mentor,” she shot back. “And you must trust us to take care of what we pledge to.”

Something in him snapped. “How _dare_ you ask me to do that,” he rounded on her. “After _everything, how dare you_ ask me to turn and flee and leave you in danger? Yda and Papalymo, you and Thancred, even Minfilia told me to run and leave them. I obeyed and I have _never regretted something more in my life_ .” He found he was shouting, but he couldn’t stop. “You are the _only one_ who’s come back to us, and _I will not leave you a second time, so don’t ask me again!_ ” There were hot tears on his face. He didn’t know when he’d started crying. His voice shattered over the words. “Not when I promised Tataru I would bring you all home safely.”

Y’shtola was frozen in place for a long moment, their gazes clashing, but at last the tension slumped out of her shoulders. She put a hand on her hip, dropped her gaze, shook her head. “Of course,” she murmured, but then raised her head to continue, voice stronger once more. “But remember, you will ask us to do the same, if Thordan indeed summons a Primal. Do not pretend for a moment it is any easier on us to flee and leave you to face a god, false or no.” Her tail flicked, defiant, and she offered no apology, but Kyler knew he didn’t deserve one. He shouldn’t have shouted.

“You’re right, in more matters than one. I’ve wasted our time.” He sheathed his sword with a snap and strode forward. Estinien followed close behind him like a watchful shadow.

Kyler tried to remain focused, but that rage was still burning, bright as the flame of a lighthouse over dark seas. It was blazing in him when he witnessed Midgardsormer speak with his child Tiamat, imprisoned for five thousand years, and it rose brighter still when the Ascians interfered. Destroying Igeyohrm with Moenbryda’s Auracite and the power of the Eye Estinien entrusted him with at the last minute didn’t even console him.

And then the Heaven’s Ward emerged, bearing what appeared to be a coffin. His eyes fell on Zephirin and his wrath boiled over. He flew at him. There were shouts and he was in the middle of a flurry of motion, the other Ward knights reacting to him. The coffin fell to the ground with a cacophonous crack. He didn’t think, didn’t need to, as he embedded a sword in the Bull’s ribs and left it there, slipping it between the plate of his armor easy as breathing, and summoned another weapon to his hand from the ring enchanted to hold his gear. It dented in Paulecrain’s chest plate. Another gave Charibert what would become a new scar on his face and took one eye with it; next it sent a lance spinning across the floor. The big one with the axe got his arms around him, the haft across Kyler’s chest, but he instinctively took hold of it and flipped him forward over his head, still holding his weapon. It cleaved open another member’s chestplate.

And finally Zephirin was before him. He headbutted him, crushing his nose, the shorter Elezen crumpling beneath him. Kyler found Zephirin’s slaughtersword in his hands and he stood over him, one foot on his throat, and it was fitting, so fitting.

As he lay there under him, his face red with his own blood, his crystalline green eyes met Kyler’s and, suddenly, they cleared. He _smiled_ up at him. The point of Zephirin’s sword was aligned with where his ribs tapered, where he’d struck Haurchefant. The memory of that wound ripped through his mind. Part of Kyler murmured that Zephirin was not his own master, tempered or no, that the guilt lay not with him but with Thordan, that Kyler should incapacitate him and return him to his city to face justice, if given the opportunity. Another part of him, a truer, harder part, in a voice familiar yet not his own scoffed: _Ishgardian justice? Never._

One of Zephirin’s hands came up, laying flat against the blade, as though to guide it true. He nodded.

Kyler rammed the blade home, through him, and into the floor. 

His soulstone, the ice-blue stone of Paladins, shattered. And protruding from its heart was a wicked spike of deep purple crystal, pulsing with otherworldly flame.

Kyler turned slow, eyes alighting on the Archbishop. Aymeric’s bandages flashed through his mind. He wrenched free Shattered Heart - yes, that was its name, of course it was - and advanced.


	5. Coda

Kyler wrenched awake, drenched in sweat, a shout on his lips. Only once his lungs were empty did it release its stranglehold on his throat, leaving him heaving for breath, clutching the bedclothes.

“Oh, love,” Aymeric said in bed beside him, his hand stealing, gentle, onto his back. Estinien, on Kyler’s other side, tensed in waking.

The room came back into focus around him, no longer hazy, the whining in his ears receding. This was House Borel. Of course it was. It had been months since the Archbishop became a Primal and fell to him, and--

“A bad dream.”

Kyler froze. That voice, easygoing and tenor and so familiar. He turned. 

Where he’d assumed Estinien had been, Haurchefant sat up in bed beside him, his chest bare, his silver hair crowned by the moonlight peeking through the window, smiling at him gently. 

“H-Haure?” Kyler’s voice broke. 

“I’m here,” he told him, that smile growing, somewhat crooked, on his beautiful lips. 

Kyler fell to pieces and into his arms, sobbing into his chest. He didn’t stay there for long, couldn’t, couldn’t believe his eyes. “You’re here,” he said, voice warped almost beyond recognition, putting his hands on either side of his face, feeling his cheekbones, his ears, his neck, his shoulders. “You’re alive.” 

“I’m right here, here with you, my darling,” he said softly, one hand cradling his face, stroking his hair. The bed shifted and in Kyler’s periphery Estinien’s rumpled white head appeared around Aymeric’s shoulder as he, too, sat up on the far side of the bed.

Kyler wept, wracking the whole of him, and kissed Haure and pressed his forehead and nose to his and held onto him for dear life. He was there. Impossibly, he was there, and alive, and smiling and speaking softly in his ear. Vaguely, he was aware of Estinien and Aymeric’s hands on his back, his side. They were all of them there with him.

“Aymeric?” Lucia’s voice cut through the room at nearly the same instant as the sound of the door opening.

“It’s alright,” he replied. “Kyler had a night terror,” he told her.

“Kyler?”

Another familiar, impossible voice. Kyler turned, and there was Ysayle in a nightgown and shawl, perched at the end of the bed, her pale eyes full of concern, searching his face.

Kyler choked.

“Ysayle,” he managed, extracting himself from his lover’s arms and hugging her tight. And she, too, was real, and whole, and in his arms. She reacted with a little “oh!” but then embraced him back, rubbing the place between his shoulder blades soothingly.

“I’m here, Kyler,” she assured him, and held him as long as he stayed holding tight to her.

It was confusion that summoned him out of her embrace again. He held her by the shoulders, trying, _trying_ to understand: he hadn’t been dreaming. He was certain of it. No dream had ever been so hideously real.

And yet then, he remembered.

It was flashes at first, mere moments and images: Ysayle and Haure in the room when Estinien awoke after the final battle at the Steps of Faith, and both of them there, too, to help prize Nidhogg’s eyes out of Estinien’s armor when he had, at the very last, won back control of his body and bade Kyler kill him. Ysayle returning with Kyler and Aymeric to Zenith to beseech Hraesvelgr for aid a final time while Haurchefant remained in Ishgard, and this time, her leaving with them when the conversation did not go as they had hoped. Ysayle in attendance at Falcon’s Rest when Nidhogg in Estinien’s body nearly destroyed so much they’d toiled for. Haurchefant sprinting toward Estinien as he held both of Nidhogg’s eyes in Azys Lla, body spasming as he fought in vain against the crushing invasion of the Dragon’s will, Haure trying to wrestle one of the eyes from him only to be repelled backwards with enough force to make him hit the ground and roll. And then...

_“She’s going to fall,” Kyler said, knowing it was true with a terrible certainty, as though he had already seen it happen. “Biggs, Wedge! Rope, I need rope!”_

_“Aye!”_

_“What’s the plan?” Haurchefant asked, steady at his side._

_“Estinien,” Kyler turned to look at him. “Your jump, can you reach her?”_

_Estinien looked from him to their friend, suspended in the air between the_ Excelsior _and the Garlean monstrosity._

_“Can you reach her?” Kyler repeated, more urgently. There was little and less time._

_“I can try,” he answered, nodding decisively._

_“Wedge, tie the end to his waist, good and secure, better to break his momentum,” Kyler said. “Hurry!”_

_“Here, give me the coil,” Haure said and Wedge did both, cinching the rope tight around Estinien’s slender waist and giving it a tug to test it, jostling his frame._

_“That had better hold,” Estinien said, but without threat._

_“It will,” Wedge saluted him._

_“Quickly!” Alphinaud cried. “The transformation’s breaking!”_

_“Right,” Estinien growled, hooking one hand around the railing at the_ Excelsior’s _stern and swinging up onto it in a crouch._

_“Ready!” Haure called, the other end of the rope braced round the small of his own back. Kyler took hold of it ahead of him, and Wedge ahead of him._

_“Fury,” Estinien swore, gathered all his strength, and leapt. The force splintered the railing._

_He arced through the air, spiralling slowly through empty space. In spite of the blaze of gunfire and the engines of machina, it was quiet. Strangely so. He extended a hand, reaching with everything he had._

_“Ysayle!” he roared._

_Her eyes flickered open, dazed._

_“Estinien,” she said, recognition rekindling her spirit. She reached back._

_He just managed to grab her wrist, pulling her to him on the instant, getting his other arm around her back just in time for her to go limp and his line to go taut. It wrenched him backward, knocking the wind out of him, but he clung to her with both arms, curled around her, holding her in an embrace to save her life, the life she would have sacrificed for them otherwise._

_“He has her!” Alphinaud cried._

_“Heave!” Wedge shouted, and started up a rhythm. Y’shtola and Alphinaud joined, the lot of them reeling them in as fast as they could._

_Before they landed, they were safely aboard, the two figures of their friends locked together, passing through the hands of all the rest of them until they were borne safely to the_ Excelsior’s _deck. Estinien only slowly unclenched his limbs, motions labored and sudden. As they relieved him of Ysayle he wrenched his helmet off, drew in a terrible, strangled breath and heaved out hideous coughs._

_“Oh, I should have figured,” Alphinaud said, kneeling to his side and his outstretched hands immediately lit with aether to soothe his airways, ease his lungs back into breathing normally. A couple of coughs later and Estinien was waving Alphinaud away, even pushing him lightly when he wouldn’t stop healing him, pointing urgently at Ysayle, prone on the deck. Only then did Alphinaud relent and join Y’shtola in healing her._

_Kyler knelt beside Estinien, leaning against a railing as well as he could with the spikes of his armor. He offered him his water-skin, and once he’d stopped coughing (but was still wheezing) he accepted it, drinking deeply._

_“You owe me, Kyler Drake,” he said, jabbing a finger in his direction, though his eyes were soft. Relieved, even._

_“I absolutely do,” Kyler agreed, grinning at him in overpowering gratitude. He embraced him. “Thank you,” he said, and kissed him solidly on the cheek, unthinking, before drawing away to stand near enough the healers to hear their progress._

_Unbeknownst to him, at the time anyway, Estinien watched him with wide eyes, and, unbidden, touched his cheek where he’d planted the kiss._

“You,” a breath of a laugh, disbelieving, left Kyler. He searched Ysayle’s beautiful white-blue eyes, eyes the color of glacier ice. “You fell. I thought we didn’t reach you.”

She smiled at him gently. “You did,” she said. “Estinien did.”

Estinien rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dodging away. Rather than say anything, he leaned out to pluck up his robe and put it mostly on before leaving the bedclothes mumbling something about “since we’re all awake” and “tea.”

“He did,” Kyler nodded, a fresh wave of relief washing over him. Lucia slipped a hand onto Ysayle’s shoulder and Ysayle moved to put one of hers over it.

“And,” he turned to look at Haurchefant again. His head was tilted to one side as he watched him, not for the first time looking particularly owlish for doing so. It brought a smile to Kyler’s lips, a breath of a laugh, disbelieving, ghosting past them. “You,” he brushed his fingers through his hair, over his cheek, over part of his ear, to his jaw. He was still warm and real and _alive_. His smile pushed wider.

“Me,” he grinned a little.

Kyler chuckled, unable to help it, and kissed him.

_Having already borne the news of departure to Aymeric, Lucia, Tataru, and even Hilda, Kyler knocked softly on Haurchefant’s door._

_“Enter,” his voice came from the other side, fully awake, shocking Kyler._

_He pushed back the door and found him not only awake but up, and dressed in his chainmail besides._

_“Haure,” he blinked, shocked. “What are you doing?”_

_“Coming with you, of course,” he replied, fussing with his new shield, adjusting the straps._

_“Haure,” he said, shaking his head._

_“I am,” he insisted._

_“But,”_

_“I_ am _,” he repeated, turning to cross to him, his shield yet on his arm. He took his hand. “Kyler,” he searched his eyes, and though the circles beneath Haurchefant’s were dark, darker than Kyler had ever seen them, his eyes were bright, keen and steady._

_For a long moment they stood like that, silent, meeting each other’s gaze. Haure breathed out, shoulders dropping._

_“Come,” he said, and drew him further into the room to the couch, only removing his shield so that they could sit side by side. “Kyler,” he took his hand, laced their fingers, the leather of his glove creaking, a familiar, even comforting sound. “I endeavor to be a patient man,” he told him, looking into his eyes once more, serious. “And keeping score has no place in matters of love. I say this because I want not to bring up old arguments--”_

_“But you’re going to,” Kyler said softly, adding an “I’m sorry,” when Haure leveled him with a look._

_“When you went to Akh Afah,” he began again, and at even that much Kyler nodded. It figured he would return to that. “I was terrified for you. I feared you would leave my life quietly, in some awful, distant place. That I would never see you again.”_

_“I know,” he said softly, wanting to acknowledge it, and then waited, knowing he was far from finished._

_“And I told you when you_ did _return to me that I would never wish that period of waiting on even my worst enemies.” He paused, letting the phrase sit. “Kyler, I_ cannot _go through that again.”_

_Kyler looked back and forth between his blue eyes, half-grey in the diffuse light coming through the window. He knew he couldn’t ask him to, even if he was weak, even if he still needed rest. He leaned in to kiss him on the lips, softly. Haure pulled in a sudden breath and it shuddered out of him, kissing him back, their motions tender, warm, lingering. As they broke, slowly, Haurchefant’s eyes crept open._

_“On two conditions,” Kyler said._

_At even that much Haure’s eyes opened wide, shining. He was surprised; he’d thought it would be more of a fight._

_“One,” Kyler began louder, even a little stern, to keep his attention. The excitement in him quieted and he listened, attentive. “You may not push yourself too hard. If you need to rest, you tell us.”_

_“Yes, I promise,” Haurchefant nodded dutifully and waited for his second assignment. His knight. Even if Kyler was a touch cross with him, he couldn’t remain so, not when he was looking at him like that._

_“Two,” he blinked. “When I tell you to, as much as we will both hate it, when I tell you to run, you_ must run _.”_

_Haure’s mouth fell open and he blinked, blindsided. The beginning of a frown showed on his brow._

_“Haure, if the Archbishop summons a Primal and you are there, if the summoned likeness of King Thordan reaches out to bend you to his will, you_ will _succumb. Not because you are still recovering or are weak-willed yourself. Because no living thing that we know of can resist, except for those of us who bear the Echo.” Haurchefant clenched his jaw momentarily, the muscles standing out stark. “I am immune, and I cannot protect you from him if he tries to take you from me, from all of us. I don’t know how.”_

_Haurchefant looked down, rubbing the back of Kyler’s hand with his thumb, let out the slightest sigh, and then met his gaze again, resolve in his. “Kyler Drake, Warrior of Light,” he said, and the use of the title shot a chill down Kyler’s spine. Formal or no, none of the emotion, the sincerity was gone from his voice. If possible, it was more present, more real, than ever. “You have my sword and shield. I will wield them in defense of you, our comrades, and aye, of myself. I will follow your instruction and go where you lead, where you bid me to go,” he paused, and then finally said, “even when it is to run. This, Halone as my Witness and by the honor of my House, do I swear.”_

_Kyler swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Haurchefant,” he said, and kissed him, and when they parted, he rested their foreheads and noses together, eyes shut. He lingered, breathing with him, one hand on his cheek and the other yet laced with his. “Thank you,” he whispered. Haurchefant squeezed his hand._

Kyler shifted back into his arms, and Haure held him close. Kyler leaned in, his face in the crook of his shoulder, near his neck.

“I thought,” Kyler’s breath hitched, cutting off his voice.

“I’m here,” Haurchefant said, low and steady. As always, knowing precisely what to say.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered.

Haure kissed his forehead, gave him a squeeze.

_Kyler knocked softly, so softly it could hardly be called a knock, and cracked Haurchefant’s door. He wasn’t in his private sitting room, which he took as a good sign. He wasn’t stubbornly trying to be up and about prematurely. Next he cracked the door to the bedroom and was relieved to see him fast asleep. He looked almost angelic in repose, with his hair fanned out on his cushion and the light creeping in through his curtains striking it, bringing out a bolt of the vibrant blue beneath the silver._

_For a moment he lingered there, watching him breathe, grateful that, at last, he was sleeping soundly. The chirurgeons had finally struck on a combination of medicines and magic that both granted him relief and let him rest. For a time their ministrations had been potent enough to take away his pain, yes, but had also rendered him dazed, by turns confused or complaining the room was ‘swimming’ when he woke._

_He was loathe to rouse him, but he knew it was the kinder thing than leaving without telling him. He moved to the bed and sat at its edge. An apple sat on his bedside table, so Kyler busied himself with peeling it, if only to delay the inevitable._

_Thankfully, he stirred on his own._

_“Kyler…?” he asked, voice thick with sleep._

_“Hello, love,” he answered._

_“You look...divine,” Haurchefant said, blinking blearily and somewhat out of synch._

_Kyler raised his eyebrows. “Divine?” he repeated. “Is the room spinning again?”_

_Haure groaned out a protest and flopped his hand onto his leg._

_“In truth I was thinking that about you,” he said, finishing with the peeling._

_“Pssh,” he let out a rush of air._

_“I was,” he insisted, cutting off a slice of apple and offering it to him, near his mouth. Haurchefant took it and chewed slowly, his eyes sleepily traveling Kyler._

_“I don’t want to be divine,” he said at last. “Just yours.”_

_Kyler smiled at him, leaning down to kiss him, slow and gentle. “You are,” he told him, and his smile grew._

_After Kyler straightened up, he went back to feeding him the apple. The news that he was bound for Ul’dah with Alphinaud and Tataru could wait that long._

My shield shall not break.

_The bolt connected. For a moment, the world was silent but for a terrible whine, a ringing in Kyler’s ears. The very Aether held its breath. Reality ripped into his eardrums, the burning roar of the magic, Haurchefant’s voice grating out a shapeless sound of strain and resistance._

_Kyler knew, inexplicably, what happened next. He knew it in his bones._

_He lunged forward, took a wide stance, wrapped his arms around Haurchefant’s waist, held him to him with all his might and pivoted him away. The scream of rending metal tore through the air. Haurchefant choked on his cry._

_“Haurchefant!” Aymeric shouted._

_His shield had been blasted asunder, the stone of the walkway on the Vault roof shattered where, moments before, he’d stood. Haure let out a belated, terrible sound, shapeless and pain-stricken, even as Kyler carefully lowered him to lay down._

_“Shh,” he hushed him, more to comfort him than to actually get him to quiet, voice shaking even though he knew, “It’s going to be alright, I’ve got you.” Kyler had been in many battles, but he had never seen so much blood. His shield arm was a mangled wreck, forearm destroyed by the passage of that terrible spear of light. Kyler already had his belt off and cinched it just below his elbow, wrapping it around multiple times to stem the bleeding. The motion of it jarred what remained of his forearm and something in him knew it wouldn’t be saved._

_“Sweet Twelve,” swore Sol as she skidded to her knees at their side. She raised her hands, her magic shining around them, and yet nothing happened._

_Somehow, though he didn’t understand why, Kyler wasn’t surprised._

_“It’s alright, Haure,” he told him even as Haurchefant shook, head lolling on his neck, overcome by the extremity of the pain. “Someone get him something to bite on,” he raised his voice so that all of them could hear him._

_“I don’t know why it’s not working!” Sol said, voice soaring to a pitch Kyler had never heard it reach out of frustration and anger._

_“We’ll have to stint it,” he said, wanting to redirect her energies._

_She let out a rough, shapeless growl of exasperation but began searching amongst her things for materials._

_Lucia knelt at Haure’s other side, already ripping the cape she wore into strips with her teeth. Another of Kyler’s companions, the marauder Met, appeared and offered a leather case, hastily emptied. It was one of the few things he kept on him unrelated to battle, so it was remarkably clean._

_“Perfect,” Kyler nodded to him, hands still busy securing the improvised tourniquet._

_Met leaned down with a quiet “Here now,” to encourage Harue to bite down on it, but he twisted his head away, toward Kyler._

_“No,” Haurchefant grated out, wrestled his eyes open. “You...you’re safe?” he asked, hardly able to meet his eyes, his face was so twisted in agony._

_“I’m safe,” Kyler told him, tying off the belt fully at last. “Not even a scratch.”_

_A smile tried to break through but his pain was too much, it finally pushing him to squeeze his eyes shut._

_“Come on, then,” Met said gently, his words lilting down to him. Haurchefant managed to open his mouth enough to bite down on it. “There you are,” Met encouraged him._

_“You’re doing wonderfully, love,” Kyler told him, talking for the sake of talking, now, for the small chance that hearing him might give Haure some comfort, something to cling to while Sol and the others found something to use to stint his arm, if only to make transporting him less hellish for him. “You saved my life,” he said. “You kept your oath. Now I’m going to take care of you.” He bent to kiss his forehead, to talk softly in his ear about everything and nothing._

_He was going to live._


	6. Afterword

Thank you so much for reading!

This fic, especially the ending, has lived in my head rent free since the day after I played Vault for the first time, an experience I (and my mentor, on voice-chat) aren’t soon to forget, and it feels so great to finally get the damned thing out. In trying to figure out how to make  ~~myself~~ everything okay, I landed on using my most personally hated trope for my own ends. I hope you enjoyed it, even if you shouted in frustration at me (I deserved it). But even then,  _ was  _ it a dream? I’ll let you decide. ;)

As clarification, every italicized passage remains true even after the twist. This is my canon that then extends to the Kisstober compilation.

Sol is a reference to the healer I got sorted with on both of our first-ever run of Great Gubal Library. If you happen to be reading this, hi! Hit me up some time if you like (I'm @ScruffyChocoboi on twitter).  Met is a reference to Meteor, because why not.

Cheers everyone!


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